There is a reason I have a sense of humor about my life with our three boys. If I survived the ridiculous childhood I had, they will be fine. I am going to share with you one of my own childhood stories. Sit down and I will try and paint a mental image and while you laugh at my misery, please remember that nothing is funny until the smell of rotten eggs is gone.
Our family usually hung out at “The Farm” all day on Sundays. We lingered in my grandmother’s massive kitchen cooking dinner from all that came from the garden and the barn. My Mamaw made a cake from scratch and without a recipe. They had three daughters and the daughters had six granddaughters and eventually, much later, a grandson. Picture my childhood being like an episode of “Designing Women”.
When I was about eight my grandmother told us girls to go get some fresh eggs for a cake. I now know, since their wisdom is immediately bestowed upon we women the moment we become mothers, that they were just getting rid of us.
My grandparents always had a couple hundred chickens, among other animals. I sincerely thought I was Laura Ingalls. I had long brown hair and I loved a dress, (still do) but I fancied myself a tomboy. My cousin, who is about the same age, and I headed off towards the chicken and cow barn.
Since we were sent on a “busy” mission and the eggs had already been gotten for the day the chicken’s nesting boxes were empty. We kept looking and finally found a nest that was full. I held up the hem of my flowered sundress and my cousin loaded up all of the eggs and then I held them close.
I walked across the cow pasture, climbed a fence (as the gate was to heavy to open) walked across the yard (so as to shake them up really good). When I walked in the kitchen, proud of the major score of eggs we found, NOT in the chickens boxes on the wall but in the corner in a nest on the ground my grandmother gasped, “My Lord child! You didn’t get those eggs from that old nest by the cows your Papaw was supposed to get rid of, did you?!!!”
And then the eggs began EXPLODING! Exploding in my sundress and the stench of rotten eggs was less offensive than the dead baby chickens that were all over me when I let go of the hem of my sundress which was less offensive than being stripped naked in front of my entire family and hosed off in the front yard.
It took twenty-five years before I would eat an egg. Go ahead and laugh, I am.
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Ehrmegerd. That’s so deliciously, wonderfully, incredibly hideously hilarious. Sorry, I suffer from Schaudenfreude.
They Call Me Mummy recently posted…You are a shit-head.
It was so gross and funny, (30 some years later!)
Laura Ingall’s worthy! I loved the story and related with it. Kinda scary but it brought a smile to my face. Thank you!
Peach State
You can almost smell the egg with your description. Thanks for the post.
Cheers-
I love that story. There were years when I was with my family ( including my children ) in the country and we had about 60 chickens and some ducks. We let the ducks keep their eggs to get ducklings and one didn’t hatch. I knew it was bad and threw it into the woods where it exploded and what a stink! I’m glad it wasn’t in the house.
It is a spectacular smell, for sure! Thanks for coming by to read and taking the time to comment. I love it when people can relate. It makes me feel less like an alien. 😉 Honestly, not to many people I know believe me when I tell them an egg can “explode”. Please stop back by.
Oh my goodness!! Can’t form further cohesive thought!
And you cannot even smell it! It really, really is a funny story. I lost my grandmother, (she pretty much raised me) last spring and we laughed every time we talked about it. I could run an entire month on stories about her and her funny southern superstitions. I will pull a few out soon.
Can’t wait for those stories–bring ’em on!! God bless you and the fam!
I was mortified when my mom changed my outfits in front of other people, but to have rotten eggs and a hose down on top of that? That would have sent me straight to therapy. Great story! Thank you for sharing.
This would have been the least of my therapists “To UNDO” list. Ha ha! I will save those stories for a book something like “Blackbird” or “Running With Scissors”, one day.
This was funny story. I am saving the story of falling through the ice while ice skating for next winter. That too somehow ends with me getting stripped naked.
OMG, LOL! I’m sorry, but it is hilarious. 🙂 I love that you thought you were Laura Ingalls – I always wanted to be her too, especially because she was always writing. Tee hee. Great post! ~ Julie 🙂
Didn’t we all want to be Laura Ingalls? I have my kids hooked on Little House on the Prairie. I asked Peter if he wanted to go snuggle in my bed and watch a Little House episode I DVR’ed. His answer was, “Why would anyone NOT want to watch Little House!”
The older boys dressed up as Doogie Howser and Vinnie last Halloween, (I am so proud my kids are sheltered enough that they don’t realize you have to be at least 40 to know who they were, and this Halloween I think Peter would ROCK as Laura! 😉 Hey I did Princess Leia to their R2D2, Darth Vader, Luke, Storm Trooper and the dog was Yoda. He can do Laura for me!