April 25:
“Haha, look at that. Honey, did you hide this egg behind the lamp? Wow, you’re good at this.”
May 2:
“Oh, wow. Sweetheart, did you…is this…did you hide an egg in my coat pocket? Geez. I mean, I’m glad I found it now. It’s. This is a real egg, isn’t it. Oof. Well, glad it wasn’t rotting all winter.”
June 24:
“I’m mad. I know I shouldn’t be mad because I never actually said how out of hand I feel this egg thing is. And how mad I am is less because filing in the filing cabinet with a special folder that says “Easter Egg” is pretty great. But for real now. Are there more around the house? That mother was ripe. I can’t imagine finding one, like, two weeks from now.”
July 4:
“Haha, funny story. So I went to mow the lawn today and the mower wouldn’t start. I mean, it sort of started, but-
You know what? We both know you put a goddamn egg in the gas tank for the lawnmower. I don’t need to explain how this all got figured out because you already know where it’s going. This is getting fucking nuts, right? You’re nuts?”
September 7:
“Hun. The police. Um, the police are here. They said.
They said there’s a body. They found a body and there’s an Easter egg jammed in a wound in his head. They need you. They need to talk to you. God. How. How.”