Bad Eggs

Twelve years ago (a dozen!), Dan and some friends hosted an Easter brunch. He was living in the Castro, in a great house with a sweet little back garden - the perfect setting.

He and I were tasked with filling plastic eggs for the hunt. Or maybe we tasked ourselves. Anyway, it probably would have gone fine had we not been stoned.

Our early efforts were normal enough: Hershey's Kisses, Tootsie Rolls, hard candies. But that seemed dull after a while, so we started looking around for less-predictable treats. Who wouldn't be delighted to find a teabag in an egg? Garlic, anyone? ¿Huevo jalapeño?

Regrettably, things went downhill from there. Increasingly giddy, we vied to make each egg more outrageous than the last. One was filled with a raw egg, another with the contents of a dirty ashtray. The worst involved a trip to the cat's litter box.

Guess what? People like things predictable, at least when it comes to Easter eggs. The reactions ranged from mild amusement to shocked dismay. No one was harmed, but no one was charmed. And our brunches have been boring ever since.

After all this time, I was happy to learn we aren't the only Easter degenerates.