Drink this, for this is my blood, but don't drink it now because my blood doesn't go well with breakfast foods-- drink it with dinner, but not if you're having fish or something that'll be overpowered by the taste. Only drink the blood if you're having steak or some sort of red meat. Otherwise just drink my plasma."
So a good number of years ago my mother decided that she had had enough of this "Hiding the Easter Eggs in Places we Could Have Found Them in When We Were Five" and started getting much more creative with her egg hiding.
No more of this "Oh, it's under the sofa!" nonsense. There were eggs in the pockets of pants hanging up in the downstairs closet. There were eggs in the sugarbowl that goes with the outdoor patio furniture and doesn't get used until late May/early June. And there was no way to find most of these eggs, short of buying some sort of egg-location technology device from a sporting goods store, but it was fine because my mother knew where all of them were-- she had a list, entitled "Obscure places to hide hard boiled eggs where the kids will never find them but will continue to hunt for them, and hopefully the elongated searching period will allow Ross and I to sleep for several more hours instead of being woken up by a bunch of annoying kids at six o'clock in the fucking morning."
And this worked fairly well up until the year that my mother forgot to make a list of where she had hidden the eggs.
My sisters and I went through the house with a fine tooth comb, after which my mother insisted that we stop walking around with the comb and look for the eggs. And after a thorough search, we uncovered all of the eggs but three. Those eggs existed merely to spread the joy of easter over a longer period of time, stretching from the actual Easter Sunday, to the first week in June, when the final egg was found by our neighbor who was asking my dad for some legal advice and couldn't get over the ungodly smell emanating from our coat closet.
Since this incident, my mother has gotten incredibly creative in hiding the eggs and this past Sunday it took me a good deal longer to unearth them.
They were located:
1.) In the refrigerator, in an egg carton.
These were discovered first, completely by accident, while I was looking for waffle batter. Finding this to be a clever hiding space, my mother hid a full dozen eggs in this location. They were painted a lovely shade of white.
2.) Mixed with mayonnaise, and hidden between two slices of bread.
Not even the clever visual distraction of placing this concoction in a completely see-through ziplock bag served to disguise that for which we were searching.
3.) In my father's stomach.
We did not actually view this discovery with our own eyes, but were tipped off by our acute olfactory senses and my father's coded statement, "I just ate three of them."
4.) In a bowl of cake batter. (Fie! Clever woman!)
Virtually indistinguishable from the cake batter that doesn't require eggs (which my mother lets me eat becasue I won't get Salmonella because this is an issue for me, being that I am twenty-three and still eat cake batter on a pseudo-regular basis) these eggs were blended with a fine, chocolatey powder and a small measurement of both water and oil. I would not have been the wiser, had I not intuitively thought to read the ingredients on the box.
5.) In the dairy section of our neighborhood supermarket
Jackpot. Upon arriving at the supermarket I saw that my mother had hidden hundreds-- perhaps thousands of eggs, stacked in cardboard cartons. The feeling immediately upon discovery was akin to encountering the fountain of youth.
I had won. I had not only hit the mother lode in the egg department, it appears my mother had also hidden several gallons of eggBEATERS, umpteen gallons of milk, a wide variety of orange juices, and enough cheese to continually constipate the cast of the old testament for a period of two thousand years.