Yesterday was Rotisserie Chicken Day and today is Egg Day, so now I guess we all know which came first.

I am a late adopter of eggs as a breakfast item. When I was a kid, my dad made bacon and eggs every weekend for my mom. I’d usually been up for hours by the time they got around to breakfast, so I was never expected to join them, and it was a relief. Raw eggs looked gross. Cooked eggs smelled funny. Didn’t matter what my dad did to them—fried, omelettes, smothered in cheese, every option was a hard no from me.

Eggs in cookies? No problem. Eggs in cake? You betcha. Eggs to make the flour mixture stick to fried chicken? Oh, absolutely. But by themselves? Nope nope nope.

I was 13 when I finally sat down to a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. I decided that was not the end of the world, as long as toast was involved.

Then I started paying more attention, and I realized that my mom’s preferred egg dishes were one-quarter Tabasco. And that cheese my dad put on eggs? Velveeta, because it melted smoother.

OK. Game on. Grandma’s deviled eggs, made with Miracle Whip and mustard and not much else? Yes, please (but no to all others that use mystery ingredients like pickle relish or chives). Eggs in restaurants were a new adventure. Ham and cheese omelets were dandy. McMuffins with egg became a weekly go-to in college.

So by the end of my 20s, I was fairly well schooled in the egg world. The one variation I had not steeled myself for was Fried Over Easy. All that goo just weirded me out and I didn’t see the point of a half-cooked egg.

Then I met my husband, who informed me that “breakfast any time” is one of the most beautiful phrases in the English language. That dude eats a LOT of eggs. Fortunately, he is not an over easy guy. But he is an “over medium” guy, which I had never heard of before I met him. He has pretty much perfected that skill, and we eat a lot of eggs in this house. But I do insist on a lot of toast to sop it all up, naturally.