How do you like your eggs in the morning?I like mine with a kiss.
That’s someone asking the olde timey singer Dean Martin about his breakfast preferences in a famous old crooner duet. You may know it because you’re old or because it turns up on films and adverts all over the place. There are other lyrics, but that’s invariably the instant that I jab my car stereo off button. Last time this happened it was a particularly long and boring car journey and I started to think about those opening lyrics. The more I thought about them, the more I realised they described a many-layered horror. Let’s look at a couple of the possible scenarios.
Scenario number one. He’s checking into a hotel, and she, a receptionist let’s say, has been asked to give the kitchen a heads-up about new guests’ breakfast plans.
“Here’s your key. Your room is number four-twenty-one on the fourth floor. The lifts are over by the concierge desk. Enjoy your stay. Oh! One more thing, Sir. How do you like your eggs in the morning?”
This doesn’t really hold water. For one, we’re talking about famously quick-to-cook eggs here. Some hunting lodge dining rooms might have a polite notice asking that the kitchens be given 12 hour’s notice if you would like an entire pit-roasted fucking pig for dinner, but breakfast eggs are usually less of a headache for the chef.
Quite apart from this, what to make of Dean’s creepy reply? The reasonable replies available include “No idea, ask me tomorrow.” and “Can I speak to your manager?”
This weird insistence on a kiss crosses a pretty clear line. Hotel staff can expect to carry out their duties free from the lecherous wisecracking of business travellers.
In any case, all this isn’t very likely. I think we all assume that this exchange is cheeky sexy talk and no hotels are involved:
Scenario number two. What we know:
They must be new to each other - she doesn’t even know how he has his damn eggs for goodness sake.
So perhaps this is a one-night-stand? Obviously, one where she expects him to still be there in the morning. She’s thinking I’ll let him know I expect him not to piss off in the small hours by alluding alluringly to the promise of a cooked breakfast.
Again, there are some reasonable responses one can expect from old Deano.
“How do you like your eggs in the morning?”
“Yeah, fried, babe, cheers.”
If it were me the answer would be “In a McMuffin meal with extra hashbrown. Alone and elsewhere.” but each to their own.
But no, Dean decides to get kissing involved. She’s straight in the bathroom WhatsApping her friend saying “He’s going on about wanting an eggy kiss WTF?”
Either our hero got nervous and muddled and is now admonishing himself “Dean you fucking twat. Kisses and eggs! What you are talking about?” or it really is his thing.
In that case, he’s essentially saying that he wants that yolky emulsion regurgitated from a stranger’s furry morning-breath mouth directly into his, in some sort of bizarre sexual slippery food coupling with vague eggy sulfur smells and inevitable wretching all round.
When Dean Martin died in 1995 his closest friends said there were two things that you would never do around the great singer. One, never think too hard about his lyrics.
And two, never ask him how he likes his black pudding in the morning.
(,
Sat 14 Dec 2019, 16:21,
archived)
That’s someone asking the olde timey singer Dean Martin about his breakfast preferences in a famous old crooner duet. You may know it because you’re old or because it turns up on films and adverts all over the place. There are other lyrics, but that’s invariably the instant that I jab my car stereo off button. Last time this happened it was a particularly long and boring car journey and I started to think about those opening lyrics. The more I thought about them, the more I realised they described a many-layered horror. Let’s look at a couple of the possible scenarios.
Scenario number one. He’s checking into a hotel, and she, a receptionist let’s say, has been asked to give the kitchen a heads-up about new guests’ breakfast plans.
“Here’s your key. Your room is number four-twenty-one on the fourth floor. The lifts are over by the concierge desk. Enjoy your stay. Oh! One more thing, Sir. How do you like your eggs in the morning?”
This doesn’t really hold water. For one, we’re talking about famously quick-to-cook eggs here. Some hunting lodge dining rooms might have a polite notice asking that the kitchens be given 12 hour’s notice if you would like an entire pit-roasted fucking pig for dinner, but breakfast eggs are usually less of a headache for the chef.
Quite apart from this, what to make of Dean’s creepy reply? The reasonable replies available include “No idea, ask me tomorrow.” and “Can I speak to your manager?”
This weird insistence on a kiss crosses a pretty clear line. Hotel staff can expect to carry out their duties free from the lecherous wisecracking of business travellers.
In any case, all this isn’t very likely. I think we all assume that this exchange is cheeky sexy talk and no hotels are involved:
Scenario number two. What we know:
They must be new to each other - she doesn’t even know how he has his damn eggs for goodness sake.
So perhaps this is a one-night-stand? Obviously, one where she expects him to still be there in the morning. She’s thinking I’ll let him know I expect him not to piss off in the small hours by alluding alluringly to the promise of a cooked breakfast.
Again, there are some reasonable responses one can expect from old Deano.
“How do you like your eggs in the morning?”
“Yeah, fried, babe, cheers.”
If it were me the answer would be “In a McMuffin meal with extra hashbrown. Alone and elsewhere.” but each to their own.
But no, Dean decides to get kissing involved. She’s straight in the bathroom WhatsApping her friend saying “He’s going on about wanting an eggy kiss WTF?”
Either our hero got nervous and muddled and is now admonishing himself “Dean you fucking twat. Kisses and eggs! What you are talking about?” or it really is his thing.
In that case, he’s essentially saying that he wants that yolky emulsion regurgitated from a stranger’s furry morning-breath mouth directly into his, in some sort of bizarre sexual slippery food coupling with vague eggy sulfur smells and inevitable wretching all round.
When Dean Martin died in 1995 his closest friends said there were two things that you would never do around the great singer. One, never think too hard about his lyrics.
And two, never ask him how he likes his black pudding in the morning.
If only this were truethat drugs could turn you into a cartoon character.
Especially Popeye.
I would do drugs if that were true.
(,
Sat 14 Dec 2019, 19:14,
archived)
Especially Popeye.
I would do drugs if that were true.
Just eat more spinach
(
PedroHin Come along & ride on a Flantastic Voyage,
Sat 14 Dec 2019, 22:27,
archived)
Sorry....I should have posted this instead...
atomic A-bomb-a-nation,
Sat 14 Dec 2019, 18:49,
archived)
