I came up the driveway after I walked from work the other day feeling rather cheerful. Then I walked through the front door.
My mom had a sort of slight smile forming. She told me she had cleaned out the furnace room that afternoon but that during the cleaning, she found something that reeked. She put her hands on her hips and told me to go outside and look in the green box.
I thought it was a rather strange request, so being human I asked why.
She simply said that I would find out.
I walked out the backyard and saw a small green box sitting on the barbecue. I laughed thinking it was a joke. Then I opened it and to my surprise found half a dozen eggs painted in bright colors.
And they were all rotten.
It smelt like a thousand skunks and methane gas explosion. I was lucky the neighbourhood didn’t call the nuclear plant to have it looked in to.
I closed it back up with my nose plugged and asked what this was about. Then I remembered how at Easter my father and I had decided to paint eggs and decorate the house with them.
Then when the season was over we went around and collected them. Placing them all in one green little box.
I guess they never got thrown out.
I think about this now and laugh but as I do so I offer this piece of advice.
Never pack up your Easter eggs.