aesthete

I made the ugliest looking deviled eggs yesterday for a church party. Against all my wants to hide them in my fridge and take something else to the potluck or turn them into egg salad, I didn't. I finished them even though I had to reboil the eggs and still barely got the shells off. I couldn't count how many times I've boiled and deviled eggs in my life, I don't know what happened. It seemed like such a fail-safe. I want the food I take to social events to be perfect, what self-respecting Food Network addict wouldn't. I took them, the nineteen or twenty remaining halves of the original dozen eggs in all their misshapen, nicked and a little brighter yellow center than normal glory. I even left two whites empty in honor of my brother, though I don't think anyone ate them. In the end, people ate them and enjoyed them. No one shunned me for my less than perfect looking eggs. I don't think anyone even noticed. I brought home 3 halves, but that is only because they were victim of being that one dish that gets forgotten in the fridge till the serving is half over. I guess I taught myself a lesson in its not looks but what's inside.