Egg

Christmas time has come and gone.


...And left me with a few stories to share!


I have just gotten back from a two-night trip to Tucson. Tamales, tortillas, beans, and pies--complete with Trader Joe's Peppermint Jojo cake pop thingys--dotted the tables and ended up in my digestion system. Ahh, Christmas! The day(s) of feasting and beating people with your awesome word-usage in Taboo.

It was a fun three days (despite the cold that I had caught). And here I am, waiting for the New Year to come! All in all, we had no calamities. Just fun and a happy time to be with family.

However, a few--ehh--humorous things occurred. Of this I shall share.

When we go to Tucson, I usually end up staying at my grandparent's house. Grammy & Poppy (dubbed this by myself and my brother) have a tidy little house (in a not-so-tidy neighborhood) and a fairly spacious back yard, which holds a tiny little guesthouse and two small sheds. A new(ish) thing in that backyard is the garden.

Oh, and the chickens.

Let's not forget the chickens, shall we?

11 (formerly 12) chickens are currently living in my grandparents backyard. They now basically have a farm in what used to be a square of dirt fenced by brick walls. These chickens, or hens, whichever you call them, are the happy-go-lucky, pleasant, and cluck-happiest egg-layers I know. And even though intelligence is not exactly as strong point on their part, their bright little eyes glitter when the cackle at whoever they think will feed them next.

Anyhow, these chickens roam 'round the wire-fenced in garden and lay eggs. Actually, these are pretty good eggs. I don't really like eggs, but the way Grammy makes those guys...Ooooh...

Cheese.

That's what makes eggs good.

Cheese.

Anyway, these chickens are now permanent residence of their backyard, and are pretty neat.

Yesterday morning, before going to see the movie Hugo (GREAT MOVIE YOU HAVE GOT TO SEE IT!) My mom & aunts were outside, talking, enjoying the nice weather, and, of course, chicken-viewing. When I came out I was promptly given an egg (to go and put in the kitchen), and I stuck it in my pocket (of my new jacket), meaning to bring it in when I went back into the house.

Ehhhhh... (Oookay, so I don't exactly think things through all that much)

I sorta got caught up in the conversation. And then I sorta forgot I had an egg in my pocket.

Oopsies.

About ten minutes later, as I was sitting in a plastic lawn chair and listening to whatever was been discussed, I felt the corner of my jacket and realized something was weird.

Why in the world was my jacket--and my shirt--and my jeans--WET???

I just sat there trying to figure out when, in the last few minutes I had been near water. Okay, so I'll be the first to tell you I spill things.

...A LOT.

I have made myself a reputation for being a messy eater.

Hey, I've improved since I was four, but CERTAIN PEOPLE will not let the joke go.

But how could I spill water on myself if I hadn't even been near water at all?? I hadn't even taken a drink, gotten near a hose, NOTHING.

What was going on?

And then I looked up. And saw that I was sitting right under the edge of the roof of the guest house.

Ummm...

But no, that's not right. It couldn't be birds (man, that would have had to be one BIG bird), and it wouldn't have been rainwater.

But wait! What's this?? It's not even water! Why, why...

IT"S STICKY!

The first thing that came to mind then was that I had somehow, someway gotten Spackle on myself. You know, Spackle, like the clear stuff you paint on wood to make it shiny. Of course, there was not a hint a Spackle anywhere as far as the eye could see, but still, it really felt like Spackle.

I was getting up to go inside and change when I noticed a small bottle of oil (like for power tools) on a table nearby. It looked a little leaky, and I had been around the area.

Great.

On my new jacket, shirt, and jeans (Christmas brought many things) I had spilled oil.

Just great.

Well here I am, in a small muck of despair, when my brother, Matthew comes out. As he walks by me, I explain briefly what happened, and he commands me to take my jacket off so that the oil doesn't ruin it as much (or somethin' like that). I did just that, but while I was taking it off, something else caught my eye. My new jacket is black. Completely black. But on the interior, it's a light gray color. As I took off my jacket the left pocket came into view from the gray side.

And there it was.

The gray had been turned to a much darker shade--obviously it was wet--but only in the very bottom corner. The top of my pocket was completely dry.

And then it hit me.

...And then I remembered the egg.

And then I got laughed at.

Ehhnn.

The gooey, sticky mess came out of the pocket, shell & all, and tossed over to where the chickens could get at it (hey they ANYTHING, so much so that they are cannibals [or cannon balls as Poppy calls it]). After the giggles had tuned down a bit, my slimy wardrobe was thrown in the wash (needless to say, I am glad that it wasn't oil). And they have since turned back to the dry side.

And I have since earned myself the nickname egg pants.

...Ho' boy...

-Plink.