Why My Parents Don't Allow Me to Dye Eggs Anymore

I am highly allergic to eggs. And, quite unlike every other human being on the face of the planet, my allergy is getting worse over the years. Which, for those of you who follow my blog regularly, would explain why that sandwich knocked me down so much the other day.

Interestingly, one of my favorite things to do is dye eggs. When someone busts out some food dye and vinegar, I am like a moth to the flame.

Once, when I was 11, I figured out how to tie dye an egg. Someone got one of those fancy-pants kits, and I went nuts on some hard-boiled eggs.

So, seeing my creation, I decided to put one of the best eggs in my pocket to show my family. And promptly forgot about the egg in my pocket. For one year.

One year later, I am skipping at recess, and I run up to my friends. While we are standing around talking, I stick my hands in my pockets. Remembering my egg, I tell my friends, "Hey! I found my egg!" And promptly accidentally crack it.

Now, I can't really describe the smell unless you accidentally fell face first into a year old cadaver. If not, well, it's worse than anything you have smelled. Ever.

So, I go in from recess, cracked egg still in my pocket, and put my coat in the cloak room, to smell up the other children's belongings, because that's what Jesus would do - He would share.

After school, my friend Sam tells me that I need to get rid of the egg, because the smell is making her gag. I don't want to tell my mother, as I think she will kill me/ground me  (it's one in the same when you're twelve years old.)

So, Sam gets brave, and we sneak into my parent's house, grab my mother's medical long tweezers (they were a foot long), and pulls the egg out of my pocket.  And promptly throws up right after.

Then, after playing for the rest of the day, I go home, and throw my coat into the dirty clothes pile that is about to go into the washing machine.

My mother then goes downstairs, and starts up another load of laundry, and from upstairs we hear, "OH GOOD GOD." And then the THUMP THUMP THUMP of her running up the stairs as fast and furious as she can.

"WHAT DID YOU GET INTO ENNA?"

Me: "...eggs..."

Mom: "Where did you gets eggs?"

Me: "Grandma Diane's house."

Mom: "You haven't been there in a year!"

Me: "That's about right..."

Mom: [pause] "OH GOD THAT IS DISGUSTING."

Mom: "It was diving face first into an old woman's crotch. An old woman who doesn't wash herself! [shudders]"