Last One Out is a Rotten Egg

Most of my chicks have left the nest and last night after having a long chat with my son, who is now in Texas, I began thinking about some of the escapades that happened when the kids were little and one hot July day sprang readily to mind.

I was passing the afore mentioned son’s room when I detected a very pronounced and horrible odor. Now any of you who know Ryan, or who happened to have read The XY Factor are probably wondering why I would pay attention to this particular smell. I noticed because this was not the smell of banana peels left for weeks in the trash pail. It was not the stench of a boy’s wet sneakers or gym socks. This was the putrid, overwhelming, sickeningly sweet smell of decay. It was an odor that assailed the senses, the distinct odor of death and I immediately went into panic mode.

Now I am not afraid of many things but the thought of some long dead, hairy, beady-eyed creature in my home set my heart to racing. I cannot even cope with the idea of rodents. I have terrors that bypass hysteria and rapidly become mouse psychosis. And it wasn’t likely that I was going to open the yellow pages and find a Rodent Busters in the listings. I wasn't just nearing the edge of terror, I was about to jump because I wasn’t sure how I was going to uncover this ‘thing’ and get rid of it. The very knowledge that my home was hiding a deceased monster from me sent me outside onto the deck where I found my answer. I would call on my new neighbors for assistance. What did it matter if they thought I was a lunatic? They had five children; obviously these people weren’t afraid of anything! So with any dignity I may have left shoved in my pocket, I walked over to their home, knocked on their door and pleaded for help.

To say they were amused would be putting it mildly but with a smile on his face and an aura of confidence, my new neighbor entered the room of death and began his search. Coward that I was, I backed away into the kitchen, because whatever he found, I sure didn’t want to see it. After a few minutes I heard him call out that he had found it and I was so relieved that I vowed at that very instant to tend those five children at least once as a payment for his help. My relief soon turned to dread though as I saw him entering the room carrying a dresser drawer. He was asking me to look inside to see what he had found. As he walked nearer, I went into retreat, but he kept coming toward me with this smile on his face. Okay, now I was really scared. I didn't know this man at all. He and his family had only been in the neighborhood for about a week. Was he some sort of sadist who wanted to see me collapse or hear my terrified screams? When I realized that I would not escape the fate in that drawer I stood on my toes and peered in, from a good 3 foot distance, I can assure you. Inside that ominous box of death, wedged into the corner and partially hidden beneath an old tee shirt, not looking nearly as lifeless and decayed as I knew it must be, was a dullish purple-looking ..........Easter Egg!

So let me give you good words of advice. If the weather is foul and you find yourself hiding eggs inside this Easter, remember to count them. Or better yet make a map of every location where they are hidden so you will not be the hysterically funny topic of conversation at every neighborhood barbecue the rest of the summer.

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