I was feeling all Martha Stewart on Saturday as I completed cooking for my Easter dinner for friends and family. I contemplated what I could do to inject a little whimsy into the day.
I stumbled across a basket of those plastic Easter eggs that open up so you can put candy in them. In better times, I would stuff them with dollar bills – including a couple of twenties. I would sit back and watch my adult children rush around in childlike glee, trying to pick up a little spending money. Not this year, I can’t even afford the plastic eggs and a $20 won’t get you much anyhow.
Suddenly, I had what I thought was a brilliant idea. I would create “fortune eggs” and make up bogus predictions to entertain my guests. I had only six people coming since four of my guests canceled last week, the very day my last newspaper column revealed that my pantry contained items way past the expiration date. Very suspicious.
The six that didn’t cancel were either a gutsy, dare devil sort – or they would eat before coming to my house. I suspected the latter.
Nevertheless, I booted up my computer and began to compose the make-believe fortunes to tuck into the eggs and pass in a basket with dessert.
“Major change is coming into your life,” I typed. “Oh wait, it’s only menopause.” Ha ha ha.
Wouldn’t you know, my son, Braddock, would get that fortune? No laughs. Only blank stares. Well, clearly, the wrong person got the female-oriented fortune I had encased in a PINK egg. What kind of man picks a pink egg?
“But Kathy was supposed to get that,” I complained. This was not going well.
Next, my friend Marc began to look a little green around the gills. “I will contract food poisoning tonight from the fruit salad I just ingested,” he read.
I died laughing, but it was a solo guffaw. Everyone else was glancing at their plates hoping they hadn’t finished the fruit salad.
“It’s just a joke,” I cried.
Ken got the one that said “You are about to embark on a journey of a thousand miles. It will begin with a broken fan belt and a leaky tire.”
“Okey dokey,” he said without humor. Obviously, my guests had fallen into a tryptophan-induced coma. Who were these people with whom I’ve shared many hours of unbridled laughter? They had turned into “Easter Beasters.”
Kathy is the only one to show even minimal appreciation. “Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes. That way, if they get angry, they are a mile away and barefooted,” she read. She giggled. Okay. I should have let her go first.
No one picked my favorite and I had to open the remaining fortune eggs to find it. It said “There is virtue in laughter.” It was written in hieroglyphics.
This time I really cracked up, but no one got it because they didn’t know what it said. Ai-yai-yai-yai-yai. I’m throwing away the plastic eggs so I’m not tempted to recycle them again.