You know how sometimes you pretend to do a cooking show?

Steam the eggs. That's how you should hard boil them if you want to get the shell off easy.

Twelve minutes, cool in cold water, eat.

The steam from the hot water and the light breaking through the kitchen window met in a large puffy cloud as I drained the eggs in the sink.

"It's so simple," I said. "And it's made so much easier with my signature line of kitchen tools."

"What?" my wife replied from the other room.

"Nothing!" I replied.

"What were you saying?" she replied.

"Umm," I hesitated. "I was just hawking my signature line of kitchen tools."

You know how sometimes you pretend to do a cooking show?

"Oh," she replied. "Are the eggs done?"

She doesn't judge me because she does it, too. With all that is going on in our lives, it's hard to believe we both have time to host our own imaginary TV shows. But, as I always say, if you are doing something imaginary you love, than it is worth the imaginary time.

I've noticed that everyone does this. A man at the gym the other day was quietly talking no one in particular through the correct way to do an arm curl. A woman sitting next to me in traffic sang loudly, a song I didn't recognize, into her coffee mug. My daughter pretends she's the host of YouTube Play-Doh videos all of the time (these are videos where people make princess dresses out of Play-Doh).

I don't know if it's a result of watching too much TV or needing a fantasy escape that makes this a thing. Maybe the more important you make mundane tasks feel, the more care you are willing to put into what you are doing.

Maybe, minds just tend to wander.

Of course, when you are a parent, every moment is a teachable moment; especially in the kitchen, what with the sharp knives and fire.

"Whoa, daddy," my 2-year-old cautioned when I pulled the pot off of the stove. "That is very hot."

Hot and sharp are easy lessons to teach. Managing pain is a difficult one.

So when my wife sent a very sharp blade through an avocado and half of her finger one day, she knew she had to stay calm for the kids. I knew I had to stay clam for her. This was a deep cut down to the bone. And here was a lot of blood.

I don't believe she was using one of my signature blades.

She held her arm up and over the sink while I wrapped it. Our daughters watched from the edge of the kitchen in terror. My wife, with all of her super mom strength, bit her lip and reassured the girls that everything was OK. We all held back tears.

And all of this was on live, imaginary TV.

I held my daughter's face in my hands. "Mom will be OK," I said. "We are going to take her to the emergency room and they will fix her up." She wasn't sure but nodded anyway. A big, fat tear hung on each cheek.

Five stitches later, our world was well again. We learned that the ER sees a lot of avocado-related injuries. We were their third that week.

A few days later, I asked my daughter what she learned from the whole experience.

"You have to be careful when you cut stuff," she replied, "because avocados are very dangerous.

David Manley is a husband, father and a newspaper editor at The Canton Repository. Share your stories with him at Follow him on Twitter: @DaveManley.