Eggs are fragile little morsels. Just the slightest crack in the hard outer shell will result in a gooey massacre.
In grade six (or five; I’m never clear on dates), one of our science projects enabled pre-teens to make a REALLY BIG MESS. The main objective of the experiment was to save an egg from an untimely death while being dropped from the gym balcony. Some kids used paper planes, others used parachutes, and the ones that ended up graduating with honors used padding and parachutes. I’m no engineer, so of course, my invention failed miserably, ending in an eggsplosion on the gym floor. Why the teacher didn’t just boil the eggs is beyond me.
I also don’t understand why this was an elementary school project when they assigned adults the same task on “Canada’s Greatest Know-it-All”. And they still sucked.
Adults are much like children. Just this past summer, I participated in an egg challenge. The object of the game was to keep your egg the longest without it breaking, and if it was not in your possession at any time, you would be disqualified. (What? We had extra eggs from breakfast). To receive an egg, contestants were required to pay an entry fee of $20. If his egg broke, a contestant was eligible to buy back in for a new egg, but only once. The person whose egg lasted the longest won the money.
How does one go tubing on the lake with an egg in one’s pocket? Very carefully. Or designate a proxy to babysit your egg. This is where I came in. Because I was the only person present that had breasts, naturally I was first choice. It really is a wonder I didn’t end up with salmonella, as I had that chicken baby warming up in my cleavage for at least 12 hours. I ended up being disqualified for placing the egg in its crib (the sink) at bed time. Sadly, eggs aren’t children.