Battle of the eggs

 Who are these people and why are they being so nice? 

 

It was a brutal competition, with lots of screaming, shoving and pushing. There may have been some scratching and punching as well. There are no memories about who garnered the most eggs; the hunt was not so much about speed—it was about who was most devious. 

Then Easter was gone, baskets were packed away for next year, and deviled eggs were supper. With no holiday to anticipate, a veil of tedium settled over our farm in a pre-summer heat. A day or two passed, and then?

In the middle of the night, something woke me, something like a POP!  I rolled over, catching just a hint of chocolate.  Then a new smell came in waves---foul, recognizable, nauseating.

It was the distinctive odor of rotten eggs.  Rolling out of bed and looking under it, I spotted a lone Easter basket with the remains of an exploded egg.  One of my three brothers had placed it there before I went to bed. (My bedroom was that clean...seriously...even under the bed...)

Opened the window…threw the Basket out…and heard the muffled giggles from my brothers’ rooms.  They were waiting for my own explosion. 

Well, they did not get it.  I tiptoed down the stairs and slept on the couch.  The rotten egg smell did not limit itself to my room; it traveled to their room as well.

Justice and revenge would wait for another day.  I was the soul of patience.

Those bastards....

This was originally published in 2019, again in 2021 and 2023. I know most of you have read this before. But I really loved the story and the memory. It was one of those things that is never forgotten.

Source etsy

Karen in the kitchen

 

 

Karen growled and muttered an assortment of foul words in her car, driving over speed limit.  Her visit to Mom and Grandma had not provided the affirmation and comfort she had hoped it would.

Bill had packed up his stuff in the night and was gone before she woke up.  Note:  I’m outta here, bitch…and the last word was written in bold letters. Now, Karen needed to share her pain.

She had been in Mom’s kitchen, sipping on peach herbal tea.  Mom was kneading bread, taking loaf after loaf from the oven.  These would go to the homeless shelter.  Grandma was sitting quietly while knitting baby blankets for preemies at the local hospital.

Karen had been trying tell of her woes and ask for advice when the litany began.

“You know, honey, the darkest hour is just before the dawn. You’ll do fine.” This one came from Mom.

“Such is life,” Grandma added. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!” She dropped a stitch, but caught it time.

Mouth open, Karen had looked from one face to the other, listening with disbelief.

“Yes, sweetie. God has a plan for you…you just don’t know it yet!...and then…It is what it is…Time heals all wounds…Life doesn’t give you things you can’t handle…It could be worse…It wasn’t meant to be…There are plenty more fish in the sea…Everything happens for a reason..

When Karen’s grandma said “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen”…

Karen had leaped to her feet and raced to her car.  She skidded out the driveway, narrowly missed the mailbox.  This found her flying along the freeway with profanity tailing after her.  Her thoughts were not kind.  If she ever heard one more mindless platitude, she would vomit.

Source

The italicized, underlined, and high lighted phrase is from Wednesday Words, where bloggers can play and experiment with the words or prompt. This is from April 2015.

 This is a repeat post from 3 yrs ago.  I fell recently and the digits are limited. 

 

What is she thinking?!!

 

.Grandma with a Grandmother's Garden quilt This is not an easy pattern!

Wilma Kindling stabbed at the new quilt she was making for her grand-niece Jessica.  Wilma was steaming as muttered with each stitch.

“This is her eighth child in nine years!  What does that jerk Jimmy think…” she grew silent as she quilted.  Jessica was having babies at a frenetic pace and Wilma simply had put an end to this.

Wilma was momentarily stunned as a cunning plot came to her. The solution was clearly visible.  “Jimmy needs to have a vasectomy!”  It would not be difficult to arrange.  Not difficult at all.

Source: julos

 

Wilma and her friendly veterinarian Dr. Fred met every Thursday night for some wine, cheese, and wild sex.  He hated Jimmy as much as she did, as Jimmy always showed up every Thursday night just as the wine was being polished off.

Dr. Fred could bring some anesthesia and supplies he uses to neuter pets, only they would give Jimmy the “Ol’ Snip Snip”* instead. 

Wilma would help with the stitching (she was good at that) and be clapping after the surgery was complete.  She and Dr. Fred would then drive the drugged Jimmy home and drop him off at his doorstep.

Such a simple plan!  Wilma was eager for Thursday.  She picked up the phone to call Dr. Fred.

*My farmer father called the human sterilization process "the ol' snip-snip".  Removing animal testicles was simply called castration.  Just so you know.

Many thanks to Delores who created the Wednesday Words back in 2010?  I don't know if I posted this back in 2015....