I was reading a strange and hilarious story that reminded me of my childhood and one of my own strange experiences, and I thought to myself…I will tell others about this, so that they may judge me. xD I wanted to write something a bit more light-hearted.
I would include a picture of what I’m talking about, but it’s apparently so weird and out of character for humans that not even GOOGLE could find a picture. It shamed me a little. So instead I’ll just tell you the story.
Once upon a time, when I was 10 years old, I had a brilliant idea. My family and I were celebrating Easter, and of course an Easter egg hunt was involved! To be honest, it was never much fun because I’m an only child, and hunting for eggs by yourself in your own yard without any competition just feels kind of silly. The pro was that since we lived in the mountains, crows would pick up the eggs that I couldn’t find the next day, and watching them take off with this huge, brightly colored object–acting INCONSPICUOUS about the fact that it was hot pink or orange or blue–was amusing.
We were dying eggs, as per the norm, and then I had found in the pot of one of the fake plants in our house, an Easter egg! From like two years ago. The boiled egg was so old that the yolk was rattling violently against the inside of the shell. I remember that I had wanted to keep it because it looked like the planet Earth by complete accident. Can you believe it…two years old, and this egg was in great shape, AND didn’t stink!
It was from this realization that I decided I would make more of them. I would keep my hard-boiled eggs as pets. The first would be called Baby Smith.
(I feel like an idiot writing this, please don’t judge me.) The ‘Smith Eggs’ became so involved that they had their own hierarchy history, from the Princess Egg, who was the smallest and brightest shade of pink, brighter than any of the other Easter eggs, that was maliciously murdered by my cat when I left the room for 5 minutes, to the foreigner named Pepito and his wife’s tragic hot tub accident during their honeymoon, and all the eggs in between.
My favorite was Eggis Presley. I had glued a black feather to his head that looked like a pompadour, at least to me (and was SUPER enticing to said murderous cat). He was a rock legend; all the other eggs loved him.
And then…it happened.
The cat struck again in the dead of the afternoon, batting Eggis around violently a few times and then leaving. Eggis was broken and scarred, but THERE WAS HOPE. I did what only seemed like a good idea at the time and pasted white-out over his wounds to keep him alive. I put him in a tiny music box (egg-sized) and hooked him up to a drawing of a heart monitor with a piece of yarn.
My cat struck again…while Eggis was recovering in the hospital. It was very tragic, and we knew that it was his time. My mom erased the line I had drawn on his heart monitor and replaced it with a flat line. “NOOOOOOOOOOO!”
The next day, we had a lovely service for him and buried him betwixt two pines in the front yard, with a cross over his grave. Those damn crows dug him up only a few hours after and carried him away.
I mean really, you can’t make this kind of thing up. xD There were a few others that followed, including sports/eggball legend Baby Jumbo, who was…uh…allergic to the ‘flu immunization’ my best friend and I gave him with a sewing needle, and he exploded. Pepito got ran over by a Legos bus after he fell out of it (possibly drunk) on his way home from college. His wife, who had died in the aforementioned hot tub incident, was tragically misaligned with a freak knee accident (my best friend got out of the hot tub, I held her out and asked ‘Can you hold this a minute?’ and she accidentally flung the egg into the air with her knee). I wrote all of this history down in a tiny, one-inch tall book, in size 2 font, for the ‘other eggs to read.’
Eventually, my best friend and I got over this and moved on to our next weird thing (hamster parties), but uh…yeah.