I’ve never dyed Easter eggs with my kids.
When my kids were younger and at the right age to be introduced to the spring ritual of gaily dying Easter eggs at the kitchen table, I was like “Noooo effing way! Toooo messy! I’m not some kinda crazy masochist!” and that line of thinking has worked quite nicely for me until about five minutes ago when I got an email touting a NEW!!! egg dying kit.
And suddenly I’m all “WHY HAVE I NEVER DYED EGGS WITH MY KIDS?” and serious mom guilt naturally followed. But as I sat here and pondered this massive parental and possibly cultural failure of mine, I realized, it’s not really the dying that bothers me. No. That was just an excuse I made up. It’s actually the eggs.
Seriously… What the hell am I going to do with a dozen hard boiled eggs after we’ve dyed them? I can assure you I’m so NOT going to eat them because I think hard boiled eggs are the food of Satan. I mean really…THEY SMELL LIKE FARTS. If that’s not the devil’s handiwork then I just don’t know…
I continued to ponder the egg/fart thing for a moment and then SHAZAAAM! I have an epiphany. It’s not the fart smell that keeps me from dying eggs. No. That was just another handy YET VERY VALID excuse.
The real reason I’ve never dyed eggs with my kids?
*whispers* I don’t know how to boil eggs.
There. I said it.
And I’m pretty sure I can feel you adding me to your “Big Fat Losers” column in Tweetdeck RIGHT NOW.