It’s All In The Egg – A Valentine’s Story

With tummies rumbling and mouths watering, we all sat greedily waiting to eat Mrs Groovy’s award winning, (well award winning to us) pavlova.

We gasped in admiration as she placed the magnificent meringue carefully down on the table in front of us.

“You’ve done it again,” Mrs Red said in awe.  “You’ve made the most perfect pavlova in all the land.”

“I have haven’t I?” Mrs Groovy sighed with pride.

“Perfection,” Mr Groovy said giving her a smooch.

“Happy Birthday darling,” Mrs Groovy smooched back.

“Scrumptious,” Mr Red said savoring the soft marshmallow as it melted on his tongue.

“Pure bliss,” Mr Smarts sighed as he took another mouthful.  With its crunchy shell and soft marshmallow center it was pure perfection.

“Perhaps it’s time you shared the recipe? Mr Fit asked hopefully. “You know, in case something happens to you. Like you get hit by a bus perhaps?” Mrs Fit kicked him fiercely under the table.

“Absolutely not,” Mrs Groovy said dramatically.  “Like I’ve told you many, many, many times before it’s my mothers secret recipe which has been passed down from generation to generation. My Grandmother would most surely come back and haunt me if I was to share it with anyone.”

Seeing Mr Fit’s crestfallen face she relented a tiny bit.  “I’ll tell you what I will do though. I will give you..,” Mrs Groovy said. Mr Fit looked ready to kiss her, “A few extra pieces to take home.  How does that sound?”

“You are a horrible woman!” Mr Fit said mournfully as he took another bite.  “The rest of the cake and I won’t bother you again?” he bargained.

“What,” we yelled in unison. There would be none left for us then.

“I need them it,” Mr Fit demanded.  “To stop the cravings. Sometimes I even have nightmares about pavlovas.  Do you have any idea what it’s like to be eaten by a giant, wobbly pavlova.  I need my revenge.”

“You need to see a doctor,” Mr Red muttered.

“Chin chin,” Mrs Fit said raising her glass to Mr Red.

“I’m sorry darlings there is no way in hell I can give away the recipe. But, as you’ve all been such great sports, how would it be if I made you all your very own, special pavlovas for Valentine’s Day?”Mrs Groovy beamed at them.”Because I love you all so very much.”

“Fabulous,” we all agreed delightedly.

The next morning, Valentine’s Day, I realized I had neglected to prepare a single thing for Mr Smarts annual Valentine’s breakfast in bed.  So, very quietly I threw on last night’s clothes, raced up to the supermarket and prayed all the way that I wouldn’t see anyone I knew.

But of course there was Mrs Groovy, looking as gorgeous as ever, searching madly for something on a shelf.

“What on earth could she be doing?” I wondered creeping closer.

Swearing loudly she sent boxes crashing to the floor as she rummaged frantically for whatever it was she was looking for.  Bang, crash, she was causing an almighty racket.

“Madam! May I help you?” Harold, the Store Manager asked her in alarm.

“Oh my dear man I am in desperate need of your assistance,” Mrs Groovy exclaimed.  “It appears you have only two Pavlova Magic Mix Eggs left and I need so many more!”

I gaped at her in disbelief.  Magic Pavlova Mix Eggs!  The secret recipe passed down from generation to generation? What was going on?

Suddenly she turned and looked at me in horror.

“You!” I shouted outraged, pointing to the plastic egg she held in her hand.

“You!” she said in disgust.  “Kooky, look like shite.  What the hell has happened to you?  And I bet you smell.  Don’t come near me. I’m sure I can smell you from here!”

Harold slowly backed away.  “Security!” he called. “Security!”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous you fool of a man,” Mrs Groovy admonished.  “Obviously she’s forgotten to brush her teeth and her hair. And why the hell she slept in her clothes I have no idea but there’s no need to call security.”

“He’s not calling security for me, you liar, liar pants on fire!” I chanted.  “You’ve destroyed half the contents on his shelves.” I stared pointedly at the boxes lying askew on the floor.

“Listen,” she demanded. “Let’s make a deal.  I won’t show anyone the photo I’m about to take of you, if you pretend you never saw me with whatever it was you saw me with. Deal?” she insisted as she held out her hand for me to shake.

“Deal,” I said grudgingly. I tried desperately to wipe the mascara from under my eyes as she took the photo. The worst photo ever taken of me in my life and which I hope will never see the light of day. 

Oh but it is going to be so hard for me not to tell Mr Fit how easy it is to make.  Especially with his nightmares and cravings.  Poor man.

I hope you all have a beautiful Valentine’s Day and if no one has bothered to do anything for you go buy yourself a Pavlova Magic Mix Egg. That is if you can find one.  I’ve heard Mrs Groovy is stocking up big time.

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8 thoughts on “It’s All In The Egg – A Valentine’s Story

  1. I made one once; well actually 16 little individual nests. They didn’t set and came out like sad, flattened, melted pebbles. No way were they even pretending to be nests, and they certainly didn’t have a hope in hell of holding the fruit, cream & nuts I’d got expectantly waiting! However, the teens LOVED them, ate all 16 of them and promptly asked me to make some more ‘gone wrong meringues’! Every cloud… 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Have to love those teens. Mine always look at whatever I make with suspicion and I have to rely on their friends to eat my tasty delights. Love their friends, they are so polite

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  2. I would never tell anyone I have a secret family recipe. My mother was a terrible cook (mostly because my dad demanded she buy the cheapest ingredients, and, if there were none, substitute something cheaper.)

    Hence, split pea soup with tuna. (And rice so she’d use fewer exensive peas).

    Welsh rarebit (which I was surprised to discover is a real food), canned cheddar cheese soup over wonderbread white toast.

    Half a box of hamburger helper with canned biscuits on top to stretch it to two meals.

    I make everything from the box.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Your mother sounds like a genius to be able to put all that together. And I’m guessing you have iron guts? My mother had a massive chest freezer which, when emptied, we found all sorts of delightful, mostly mysterious things she claimed were still edible. Take for example my ice cream birthday cake from centuries ago. She insisted the remaining pieces were still edible. Split pea soup with tuna, makes my tummy churn though.

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