Emma June Grosskopf Mask

When I was at Roanoke College, one of the absolute pillars of my experience was Saturday and Sunday brunches.

You swipe your card. You crane your neck to see if the basketball or lacrosse hotties have arrived yet. You get in the Omelet Line.

The guy making your omelet was dubbed by the entire RC community as Jacob the Omelet Guy. Jacob was a top-notch dude. By the time I graduated, he knew my omelet order by heart: everything except tomatoes with extra mushrooms.

The extra mushrooms were very important. Very, very important.

There was really nothing that could compare to standing in the Omelet Line on a Sunday at noon, probably looking like the walking dead, wearing a questionable collection of lounge attire and most likely desperately needing a shower. It was beautiful.

I’ve found myself thinking about Jacob the Omelet Guy a lot these days, because I got a wild hair the other week to make myself an omelet. Had I ever done that before?

Uh, no. I had Jacob to do it for me. He was a hero for that.

So, as a 24-year-old, mature, adult woman who has graduated from higher education and therefore is no longer frequenting an Omelet Line, I have to make do in my own apartment.

I bet I know what you’re all thinking. You’re probably thinking to yourselves, “Wow, another story about Emma being goofy and learning adult lessons in her apartment. How quaint.”

Maybe you’re expecting me to tell you that I tried to make an omelet and I accidentally flipped it onto the floor – a charming tale of Romney’s resident klutz.

Nope. I am here to tell you that the 4 years of admiring Jacob the Omelet Guy’s technique while making my everything-except-tomatoes-with-extra-mushrooms omelets has prepared me for this moment.

The student has become the master.

OK, that might be dramatic, but still. I did a lot better at making an omelet than I expected. After my 1st attempt, I was so tickled with myself that I couldn’t stop admiring it. The omelet nearly got cold. I even took a photo and sent it to my mom.

She seemed impressed, though it is possible she was just humoring me. I’m going to go with the fact that I’m sure she was incredibly impressed with her independent, eggcentric daughter.

A couple of days later, I wanted to try it again. You know, because I am a realist and I know that beginner’s luck is a very real thing. So I gave it another whirl. And again, practically perfect in every way.

Tried it for a 3rd time a couple days after that, and again. Same result.

So basically, I am the Egg Master. I am The Omelet Queen of the 304. My power is unparalleled.

I am the new Omelet Guy.

Jacob’s reign is over. My time has come.

(OK, OK, I know. It’s just omelets. But let me revel in the small victories, alright?)

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