Omelet

WARNING: ignore all spelling and grammatical mistakes...didn't get time to read it over...true story by the way...moderately twisted...

Seven. The age of innocence. The age when barbie dolls and cartoons rule your life. The age in which your biggest challenge is buying the best looking pencil box. The age of sleepovers.
Seven.
Speaking of sleepovers, I was having one with my best friend, Goonjan.
Now you've got to understand what Goonjan is like. She wasn't merely content with the sleeping part. Sleepovers with Goonjan meant fun. She never just sat and talked. She did stuff. Whether it was nail painting or playing board games. She liked doing things.
And that is how I found myself in the kitchen. Making and omelet for mummy.
I stared wearily at the counter, which reached the top of my head. I jumped up and down so that my pigtails bounced around, catching random glimpses of the objects clattered here and there. I stopped when my head started to hurt.
There was a carton of eggs placed neatly on the dining table. Goonjan gently picked up one egg and carried it carefully to the counter. We looked at each other strangely.
"Ready?"
"I guess..."
We were women on a mission.
We were making an omelet.
My oh my.
My mother was in the bathroom, just so you know.
Goonjan crouched on the floor and started tugging open the lower drawer. It revealed an assortment of pans. She sat cross legged on the floor, sorting through them all. I entertained myself by staring wide eyed at the red hot gas stove. I slowly reached over and suspended a palm above the stove. yes, definitely hot. I made a mental note of it, just in case. I brought my hand closer to it, only to snatch it back with a whimper. This was fun.
"Which pan do you normally use?"
I turned distractedly towards the girl sitting at my feet. In both hands she was holding black pans. I glimpsed at both of them.
"Definitely the larger one," I chirped.
"Are you sure?" she asked slowly. I nodded at the same slow pace.
With an energetic leap, she jumped to her feet, pushing the drawer close with her leg. Then she placed the pan neatly on the stove and let it get hot. Goonjan promptly turned around, hands poised elegantly at her hips.
"Should we put onions and stuff?"
I nodded my head like an eager puppy. Whatever she says, I thought.
"Well? Where do you keep the vegetables."
I looked cautiously around the kitchen. Then I jerked my heads upwards. Goonjan's eyes followed my finger and her face fell.
"Oh..."
The fridge was, say, six feet tall? And on top of that, stacked on a bunch of whatnot, were the onions. We wouldn't be able to reach it even with a chair.
I tilted my head. If you looked at a certain angle, the onions looked like people heads. Purple people of course. Bald, ugly, purple people. Cannibals, I decided. Certainly not something I'd like on my eggs.
"We'll make a plain omelet?" I suggested lamely. Goonjan shrugged and skipped up to the pan, standing on her tiptoes to peer at it. I glanced longingly at the T.V. Why couldn't we have a normal sleepover?
Then she declared importantly that the pan was hot enough.
There we were, both of us standing on cushioned chairs, crowing over a tiny steel dish. We were poised and ready; Goonjan with an egg in one hand and spatula in the other and me with a large spoon.
"Ready?"
I nodded. Goonjan raised the spatula like a sword. It was a funny sight; two girls crowding around a silver dish sporting over sized aprons and brandishing dangerous kitchen utensils.
With a loud echoing crack, the egg shell split in two. The contents of it dropped into the steel dish. Instantly, Goonjan snatched the spoon from my hands and expertly beat it. The eggs I mean. Then she turned to the hot pan and poured in her mixture.
I watched as the yellow spot spread over the pan. Grabbing the oil bottle, I let a trickle of golden oil leak into the pan, sizzling and encircling the yellow half formed-omelet. It looked rather...pretty. Like a huge golden lake. I leaned forward and a blast of heat hit my face. That felt good.
After sometime, Goonjan handed me the spatula and made her way to the bathroom.
I stared at the spatula. Boy did it look weird. Like a hand. Maybe a frog's hand. A black frog's hand. I swatted it against my palm and chuckled. It felt like a frog. All slimy and slippery. I squinted and brought it closer. There was a speck of yellow on it. I blew at the speck. It detached itself and drifted to the floor. I watched its progress.
Presently I turned my attention to the omelet. It had turned a nice deep yellow. The smell was certainly good. I slid the spatula down the side of the pan, trying to insert it under the omelet.
CRRRRR
I frowned and tried again.
CrrRRr CRRrR
Uh oh.
I peeped at the omelet and my brows furrowed. What...?
I shoved the spatula under the omelet and lifted it like a flap. Like I was looking into a trapdoor. And I definitely did not like what I saw.
The floor of the pan was covered with what looked like a thin layer of sponge. I groped for a spoon with my other hand and then tried to scrape it off. It wouldn't come off.
Now, I started to panic.
"Erm...Goonjan?"
Goonjan flounced into the kitchen. "What?"
"Erm...take a look at this will you...?"
Goonjan frowned and leaned over the pan. She tried removing the layer of spongish thing. It didn't work. The omelet was stuck on the pan.
Her frown deepened.
"What type of pan is this?"
I just stared at her. What type of pan...?
"Erm...normal?"
"I mean is it non-stick?" Goonjan snapped irritably.
I stared at the pan. "Apparently not."

After a lot of shoving, arguing and whimpering (from my side) Goonjan managed to convince me to call my mother. I shuffled down the hall, white in the face and shaking. Suddenly, the door at the end of the hall seemed to mover further away, as if the hall was stretching. Or else I was shrinking. Either way, I found myself standing in front of a ten foot tall door. I gulped.
With a shaking hand, I knocked on the door.
The loud roaring of the water stopped abruptly. "What?"
I swallowed the lump in my throat. It didn't budge. "Erm...could you come outside? Please?"
My voice sounded rather squeaky.
"Why?" my mother asked suspiciously.
"Erm...we were making omelet in the kitchen..."
The large door burst open and sent me flying spectacularly across the hall. As my vision started to clear, I could vaguely make out my mother's silhouette against the doorway. She had a towel wrapped like a turban around her head and was wearing her pyjamas.
I made a sound that sounded like half a gurgle.
My mother strode down the hall in long, powerful steps. As she passed by, she grabbed my by the collar and I obliged with nothing more than a squawk. She was moving so fast that the calendar on the wall fluttered.
She turned and walked into the kitchen, only to trip over a small figure at her feet.
A girl was sitting on the tiled floor, her legs sprawled in odd angles. She had a large pan on her lap and with a spoon, she was scraping vigorously at it. Shreds and crumbs of yellow-black omelet were sprinkled around her. Her hair was tussled and the odd smell of burning eggs reached our noses.
"Hi." Goonjan said sheepishly.
My mother closed her gaping mouth and it formed into a thin, stern line.

I stared at the plate in front of me. There was a pile of yellow blubbery pieces on it. Omelet pieces. The remains of our masterpiece. It looked pretty, all stacked up. But not very tasty. Kind of like a yellow dung heap. I squinted at it. A really rugged dung heap. A volcanic one, by the looks of the red sauce dribbling down it. I poked it and jumped slightly when it started to wriggle violently. A very unstably, rugged, volcanic dung heap.
I sighed dejectedly. I could hear my mother scrubbing and muttering under her breath in the kitchen. The water tap was on full blast. Goonjan stared balefully in my direction, her own plate loaded in front of her.
I sighed again.
Oh well, might as well start eating it.