Egg-cellent

Many years ago, when it was still just my sister and I participating in the annual Easter Egg Hunt, my parents hid the eggs so well one year that we could not find the 12th -- and final -- egg. After a longer-than-normal search, my dad announced whoever found the damn thing would win a dollar. He would clearly have rather paid us than come home to the smell of a rotting egg in a few days, which was fine by us.

A tradition was born that morning: the Dollar Egg. No special egg is given the designation, it's simply the last egg found. You locate it, you get the dollar. Over the years, we have added boyfriends and spouses to the mix. Notice I did not say we added children, because even though we do have children, they are not allowed to take part in the adult egg hunt. They get their own eggs to search for and then have to be barricaded in a safe spot, lest they be trampled in the frenzy.

During his first year as part of the search party, Josh actually cheated by holding several eggs in his arms and not telling anyone how many he had found. New rules had to be established after that. He's always one for finding a way around the rules, that Josh.

I won it two years ago and in my usual understated manner, leaped into the air and screamed "I FOUND IT" at the top of my lungs, then ran laps around my parents' condo with my arms raised. I am what's known as a Gracious Winner.

Five years ago, my parents had a plaque made up and each year, the winner's name is inscribed on said plaque and that person gets to display it in his or her home for the remainder of the year. (I told you this was serious business.) We have been known to stretch before the event and there may or may not have been a year where someone was tackled and F-bombs were dropped. Yes, F-bombs on the morning of the resurrection of our lord. Nothing is sacred in our family.

Last year, my sister won after her boyfriend, in his first year of participation, blocked me out of the closet and she snuck under his arm to find the Dollar Egg. It was total bullshit and I filed a grievance. That was also the year they showed up with matching headbands and sweatbands. Idiots. Everyone knows it's all about the tube socks.

This year, I looked in the closet and found nothing when Josh followed in my footsteps and emerged victorious. Again, total bullshit. But the rightful owners of the family Easter Egg Plaque retook possession of said plaque. While I might not have won, Josh did, and that's almost as good as winning because it means we shut my sister and Kevin out. What's up now bitches? Huh? HUH?


My dad, Josh, the dollar, the plaque and the egg. I am so proud.

Oh yeah, we had some kids who celebrated Easter, too.


Emmie finds the first egg. In fairness to Jack, hers IS located in plain sight on the couch. But still.

Jack sees his first egg in a normally forbidden spot. Notice he has no problem going into said forbidden spot.

We're getting candy! Wait, what? No candy? Bullshit.

Jack learns how Easter egg dye looks on your hands.

He's only pretending to like her in the hopes we'll give him some of our candy.

Rad disguise.

Emmie feels the need to try them on, too.