I think you can make an omelet in the dryer. Crack the eggs into a zip-lock bag, wrap it in a pair of pants and run them through on high for an hour. I know it will work.

Colin would never let me try it when we lived together. He acknowledged it might work, but felt that the reward couldn’t justify the risk.

For my part, I took the view that the element of risk endowed the enterprise with an air of romance. As in all forms of drama, the possibility of failure must exist or there can exist no suspense.

But to Colin, it boiled down to a simple estimation of the potential risks and rewards. If we succeeded, we would reap the dubious reward of having cooked a dryer omelet. While, if we failed, we risked that all of our clothes forever thereafter would smell like eggs.

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