Easter Egg Enterprise

Today was both special and ordinary. A Monday among Mondays, a dandelion in a field of similar ugly weeds. But today was my first and most explicit Easter Egg hunt memory. Why do college students participate in such a childish event? Because Easter Egg hunts turn even the most cultured, erudite individual into a snarling savage, like a child just out of reach of the cookie jar.
This momentous event began with a countdown by the RA, followed by a series of devilish shrieks and banshee yells as we all tried to outrun each other to the nearest pile of orange, purple, and green. Being as there were about 7 of these said piles and around 18 screaming girls (and a few unfortunate guys), this whole ordeal lasted a maximum of four minutes. As our pockets were overflowing with handfuls of these miniature treasure boxes and sweat/blood was dripping off every square inch of our skin, guilt started to creep in. For me at least. I looked around and saw a few poor souls who were simply not as fast and furious as myself who didn't get any Easter eggs, while my close friends and I were hoarding what I believe to be about 2/3 of the egg count, and I was transported back to that one time, almost farther back than I can remember, when I was that poor soul. As such, I was overcome with empathy and began handing out my eggs to those around me, like a re-born Grinch at Christmas or a springtide Santa Clause.

Feeling much lighter and gracious, the four of us headed back inside to divy up our spoils. The chocolate was the first to go (into our stomachs, that is), while the fruit-like candy sat around in 4 neat, even little piles. Baffled about what to do with it, the devilish, warrior-like savages that we had been forced to stifle in the presence of civilization started to rear their ugly heads again and candy started flying. For some odd reason, that candy started flying (and by flying I mean being thrown) in the direction of two places that normally don't have things thrown at them, if you know what I mean. If you don't, it was my crotch and Julia's shirt. This little play-game caught on quickly and may have lasted longer than the Easter Egg hunt itself. Needless to say, after fifteen minutes and every piece of that candy being in almost every place on the floor, we did not want to eat that candy. Said candy was dead to us.

Eager to find another way to entertain my beloved hallmates, I took it upon myself to, in the spirit of the holiday, demonstrate what it might look like if a chicken were to lay an Easter Egg. This proved to be quite successful and while I may have permanently harmed my reputation as a human being, I can say that I brought an ounce of joy into the lives of others. Not to mention finding another use for those cheap, plastic eggs, that can be taken advantage of in Easters to come.

While it might take the rest of the month to locate and eliminate all remnants of that fateful day, I believe that candy had the most fulfilling life a candy could ever ask for. That candy provided more happiness to a room full of college girls than it ever would have in the mouths of children.