Write about your most epic baking or cooking fail.

Scrapple and scrambled eggs. That’s all I wanted, along with fresh Colombian coffee. That’s it. Easy, right?

I mean, easy peasy. Nice and greasy.

Not this bloody day. Not that day in 2008. The day I failed so miserably to cook something so simple that an infant could do it.

I’ve written about it before, first time being in a MySpace blog. Remember those?

Meds were off kilter. I was always foggy. I had to cut my arm and draw blood to get the pain I needed for clarity. Sick thing to do, but that one scrapple and eggs day, I was fogged in badly.

I put the scrapple slices on, then used a glass bowl to beat the eggs.

Wait!

Don’t you need milk in scrambled eggs? Where did I hear that, and had I not been doing eggs that way?

I didn’t have any milk, not even half and half. Just Coffee Mate for coffee. So I got thinking, why not try that, since it’s a replacement for the real thing.

I cracked a couple of eggs into the bowl but I didn’t begin beating them. In went a teaspoonful of the non-dairy creamer, and I was surprised at what I saw.

In the albumin, the creamer could not dissolve. I didn’t know. It had seemed like a good idea, and I did it.

But something was wrong. Something was going terribly wrong.

Without even beating the eggs, something…was happening.

The powder had grouped together in small blobs. Perfect globules that were…moving!

These blobs grew bigger as they gathered more of the powder, and a big blob separated, or tried to. It was now two big blobs joined by a string of creamer. Had I somehow gotten a few eggs that had been fertilized? Was I looking at some freak of nature that was alive? It looked like a freaking lava lamp.

I abandoned the whole meal, sick to my stomach and shaking in fear of the paranormal event I’d witnessed. It had come to life!

I emptied the bowl into the trash, and chucked in the scrapple as well. I never used Coffee-Mate again. And it was a long time before I tried to scramble eggs, too.

You would too, if it had happened to you.

I always thought that Dr. Frankenstein would have proud of me. A disgusting thought if ever I’d had one