The Golden Egg in Four-Part Harmony

"You mean you're going to Macon to watch the little grandchildren hunt for Easter Eggs, right?" she said, quizzically.

"No. I mean - right. I mean - I'm going to Macon for The Great Golden Egg Hunt of 2009." I responded.

Not to be put off by a cleverly-turned phrase, she continued: "But you're not actually HUNTING for Easter Eggs, right? Because thats for small children."

"Mmpph, eh...Ahem." I responded, wittily, with an inscrutable look and a quick jerk of the steering wheel intended to distract any occupants with the possibility of sudden impact - a mild form of the "Impending Collision Scare" (see previous post so-titled).

"AHH, ARGH!" she responded, gripping the doorhandle. "What was that?" she gurgled through a half-swallowed piece of chewing gum.

"Sorry. I thought I saw The Golden Egg." I said.
"Thats not funny." She said.
"I've heard THAT before." Said I.
"No, seriously. I almost choked." She responded, undaunted by my witticisms.
"Sorry about that. The truck just sort of jerked a bit. Alignment. You know."

"Well, explain this Great Golden Egg Hunt of 2009, then. I don't understand. You're almost 30 years old. Isn't it time to turn that over to the young grandchildren? Like, TWENTY YEARS AGO?? I'm worried about you. You're regressing"

In true female fashion she had encapsulated a whole host of accusations and cast various aspersions on my character in one long, run-on sentence; an onslaught in the face of which I was powerless to resist.

So, her point was: I'm immature. Stop the presses. I know. Does that mean I can't hunt for Easter Eggs like all the other immature people in the world? NO. Does it matter that their maturity is based on age and experience? NOT TO ME. I WANT THAT GOLDEN EGG AND NO PINK-CHEEKED ANKLE BITER IS GOING TO BEAT ME TO IT WHILST I STILL DRAW BREATH.

Fortunately, I did indeed claim the prize this year: a small golden egg hidden cleverly in the base of an old, forgotten, electric snowman; remnants of Christmas past meeting Easter present in a beautiful, Protestant, melody. A bright light shone down on me, illuminating the Golden Prize, I heard the flutter of doves' wings, and a faint refrain floated down from the heavens. I couldn't say exactly, but it sounded as if the angel choir was softly singing "We Are The Champions" in 4 part harmony....All for ME.

Like most perfect moments in life, it was not to last. Cousin Daniel tripped gaily by, interrupting my holy reverie and holding aloft a much lesser prize. Not seeing me there in the shadow of the house; I extended a foot.....and sent him flying headlong into the bushes.

How's THAT for immature, eh lady!!?!?

Naturally, there was a victory interview:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5dXs5_u4XXo