"Heavens!  Don't press that one!"  

She was leaning over the egg carton—looming, you might say.  Looming over it, with her gloved fingers rapidly becoming un-gloved, eyes agleam.  Ready to press the button that would send them flying.  Flying high into the stratosphere, if stratospheres are high enough for you.  Maybe higher—maybe clear to the moon!  This was all perfectly fine, of course, for her.  She had that way about her—of pressing buttons now that depressed others later.  But for me—me who was among those others—who was 'other number one!'—me, who had to deal with the inevitable aftermath...well...I said what I could in the moment.  I did what I could in the moment—just a fraction of a second, really—before her twinkling fingers danced to the button with glee.