Let’s talk about the real villain of the story: the forgotten egg. This is the one that rolled under the couch. You find it in July. It’s dustier than a fossil.
Do not eat the July egg. I cannot stress this enough. It has become a science experiment. It is no longer food; it is a tactical deterrent for small animals.
The same goes for the egg you hid in the garden. The one that got rained on. The foil might be shiny, but the chocolate inside is now a sad, white, powdery ghost. Let it go. It’s not coming back.
The Proper Timeline
So, let’s make a schedule. A certified Easter egg eating schedule. First, the Breakfast Egg. One small Cadbury egg with your coffee. It’s a warm-up. It whispers, “Today is going to be awesome.”
Second, the Hunter’s Egg. One egg per five found. This is your commission. You get a cut of the action. It keeps morale high and blood sugar stable.
Third, the Aftershock Egg. This happens about an hour after the hunt. You’re sitting on the floor, surrounded by crinkly wrappers. You have a pile of “mediocre” eggs—the ones you like, but don’t love. You eat them out of sheer proximity.
Fourth, the Dinner Egg. Yes, after the ham and the potatoes. One final egg. It’s the palate cleanser. It’s the promise that tomorrow is a normal day, but today, you are powered by chocolate and whimsy.
