Egg Hunt

Our town in New Jersey is small enough that the mayor often comes to events wearing a windbreaker. I think mayors should only be seen in suits, but understand that people want their politicians to be “folksy” these days. As a result, we had an elected official with bedhead kick-off the annual Easter egg hunt.

Egg hunt is a misleading term. A hunt suggests that the eggs are hidden (or, more accurately, fleeing a predator). No one should hunt an egg; they don’t move on their own, and are pathetically defenseless. Anyone who comes to an Easter egg hunt in full camouflage is either hilarious, or going home in a straight jacket.  I understand, though, that “egg find” doesn’t have much zing.

What we attended on Sunday was an egg pick-up. That sounds more like community service than jolly holiday fun. The outfield of a baseball diamond was covered with 400 plastic eggs, a scene, which from space, probably looked like an immense sheet of cold medicine. An army of toddlers gathered on the starting line, waiting for William Wallace to scream something about freedom. From a distance, it appeared that one of them  had a bayonet, and another a canon, but upon closer examination, they were each just holding imaginative baskets (we live in an “artistic” community).

The mayor yawned, blew his whistle, and the field  succumbed to a screaming human vacuum that cleared the eggs in less than two minutes. And that was the end; it was a snappy harvest this year. Our boys came away with around eight eggs each. Only Silas had a proper basket. Poor Arlo was forced to settle with a stretchy nylon purse of his mother’s, which I held for him by its frilly ribbon.

“Would anyone like a beautiful pastel egg from my dainty satchel? They have Tootsie Rolls in them!” Being a man is so emasculating.

The hunt was supposed to be the day’s activity. The answer to “Ugh, what the hell are we doing on Sunday?” was, “Well, there’s the egg hunt.” I’m not sure why we thought an egg pick-up would take a whole day; by 1:07pm we had nothing left to do.

Luckily, the neighbors were hosting a family reunion which we crashed. The mayor, I hope, was taking a long spring nap.

Buy My Book!

Indiebound

B&N

iBooks

Amazon



Share This Post

Previous post:

Next post:

Stacey + Baby George says:

First, I read this to George (I, being Stacey). He is 5 months old and apparently slaccking in the reading skills. I laughed so hard it shook our bed surely waking my husband. Then I choked on the laughter and almost died. The nylon satchel almost killed me! As for George? He kicked and wiggled with enthusiasm.

Marta says:

We do an egg hunt at home for the kids. We hide the chocolate ones though, or plastic ones filled with chocolate. This is more for me than the kids. I like finding bits of chocolate through out the year. We always hide them. I like putting them in shoes and when the cat finds them before the kids. lol Last Easter my husband decided to spoil me, as I was "supervising" the kids he placed a couple DVDs in the driveway.

annie says:

Ugh, they do that kind of "hunt" here too. Drives me nuts. Is it really THAT hard to hide them?

geerue says:

Uhm, yeah. We once discovered, in August, on moving day, a hidden, hard-boiled, Easter egg. Under the couch. They mystery is why it never stank.

Christina says:

My grandpa used to *really* hide Easter eggs. Like, lost ark of the covenant, no way in hell, might be there until Independence Day hide. For example, one was eventually located INSIDE the little door you open to unscrew the gas cap on a Toyota. The most impossible egg was found sometime in Autumn in a rain gutter ON THE ROOF.

Maya says:

Christina, this. Is. HILARIOUS. My mom used to have to write down the hiding spots, otherwise we'd have to wait until they started to smell (hardboiled ones hidden inside the house).

Sandra S says:

We found one egg the following November during Thanksgiving! (Sooo gross)!! That was when my Aunt put and end to the egg hunting, at least in the house.