My pans were swashbuckled.

I was jetlagged. At an hour when I should have been focused only on sleeping, I began creating an omelet. I cracked open four eggs, dropping each into a bowl, into which I additionally added black and red pepper. After whipping the contents into a yolky mix with a fork, I stooped to the cupboard where I keep my favorite omelet-making pan, only to discover an abject dearth of pans. Perhaps I was unknowingly visited by the Ghost of Christmas Dinner Past, the Lost Pirates of the Mediterranean or the Iron Buccaneer.

I had to fry my omelet in my favorite pasta-making pot. The menu quickly changed to scrambled eggs, but in my jetlagged state, I thought my creation turned out just fine.