M and I are lying in bed. He has this ancient egg that he's had for years, and it has begun to grow these globular shapes on the outside of the shell. There were actually two of them, and one had broken. M said it turned black after a little while. The intact egg still looked edible.
As we lay there, M begins putting hot pink lipstick on. He puts on a layer, rubs it off a little, then puts another layer on, like he really knows what he's doing. I find another tube of lipstick that is a darker red, and I put it on in a sort of childish way. I ask him why he's wearing lipstick. In a condescending tone, he says there's an entire style going on in LA. Apparently I'm not in the know.
Then M is making eggs for breakfast and I'm worried he's using the ancient egg. He isn't, though.