I have a friend who grew up in England and eats strange things like a soft-boiled egg standing upright in a little stand. One morning I saw her dip a piece of toast in the egg, and the oily, glistening, slimy yellow yoke blooped out of the top and gooshed down the eggshell. (At way too early in the morning yet!) At the site, my stomach heaved in its moorings, and I spent the rest of breakfast staring at my own knees.

So I'm with you if you say you don't like eggs.

If thoroughly disguised, say in a Quiche Lorraine, I like them.