poached eggs

'Poached eggs, this is why I'm leaving you,' I rant at my partner.  'I know you're good and kind and patient, that you listen to all my woes and rejoice with me about the happy things.  You don't gamble away our money and you don't spend each night in the pub with your friends. You read my novels and make intelligent comments and you help me with all my IT problems.  You shop and cook and clean the oven and even occasionally dust.  You are thoughtful and tuned in to me and I really do love you.  But I can't stand cleaning all the egg remains from another pot: the white bits that cling and cling with admirable resilience.  I can't spend another precious minute doing this and why won't you buy a non-stick pan even if, as you claim, it makes the eggs taste different?"

I finish my diatribe and he looks at me with that loving smile, gives me one of his wonderful hugs
 and suddenly the hours spent scraping off those little white bits in the pan don't matter quite so much.

Jane