My Omelet

So there I was. Standing in the kitchen. Making an Omelet. Which in it's self is a momentousness occasion because I used to not like eggs. Like really really really really really not like eggs. But then I made an omelet that had Italian Parsley and Neufchatel Cheese (Which is like cream cheese but with a third less fat). And it was amazing. I made some more omelets over the weekend when me, my dad, and my sister, went up north to my aunt and uncle's cottage and I made them for brekkie and everyone loved them. And since my mom is doing this test thing tomorrow that she can't eat before that means that me and Michael were on our own for dinner. Thus the omelet.
When I make omelets I just let them sit there until it's time for them to go onto a plate, but today, I didn't. I lifted it up to check and see if the underside was burned. And when I tried to put it back into the pan, IT STUCK TO THE SPATULA!!! And I had no choice but to flip it onto a plate. It was actually kinda funny cause my mom walked by and saw it and said "How pretty!". Which was amusing, if only to me. So if I suddenly die of something other than getting shanked or something else, then it was because I consumed undercooked eggs, because the omelet stuck to the spatula.
Not really sure why I wrote this, but it seemed like a good thing to write about. But I'm going to go and finish my TV show and consume the omelet that may lead to my death. Peace out.