Today, I ate a perfect omelette. The eggs were cooked just so, the cheese was melted just right, and the toast was toasted to a golden brown perfection.
Later, I watched the sunset over a perfectly manicured lawn. The blades of grass were all the same length, and the flowers were arranged at a 45-degree angle to maximize visual appeal.
And, of course, I wrote a brilliant 10,000-line poem about nothing in particular, but with a sense of purpose and meaning.