Aselin

This Easter weekend our church threw a lovely Easter breakfast slash Egg Hunt party. It was held in the retention basin in my neighborhood.

People who throw these sorts of parties are really good at making something out of nothing. There were lovely decorations, spectacular food, even chocolate dipped strawberries. Imagine, all of this in a retention basin.

I spend a good deal of time in the retention basin. (I know this shocks you). On my runs in and out of the neighborhood it has the perfect tree to stretch my hamstrings on. Because it is lower than street level, I can wrangle myself into all sorts of awkward stretchy poses without anyone calling the cops on me.

On some of my runs, dog accompanies me. While I am stretching, I usually let him off the leash. He runs across the park chasing birds, sniffing things, and eventually ends up laying at my feet licking himself. Like I said, it is better when my family is kept below street level.

So there we are, mingling in a spectacularly decorated breakfast buffet with all sorts of Easter regalia. Hubby, kids, dog and me. As the egg hunt portion of the event started I watched my kids run to the far side of the field. As they got farther and farther away, I realized that this was the last year they would be allowed to hunt, and I started to get quite emotional. Not wanting to explain myself to the other guests, and not wanting to miss their final hunt, I jogged after them with dog in tow.

The squeals of egg-hunting kids qualify for the "pure delight" category. I was smiling as I watched the kids race from egg to egg, bush to tree. Kids were calling for me to let dog off the leash - so I obliged. With joyful abandon he joined the frolic and I beamed watching the melee.

Then, true to form, we ruined the Rockwell moment. The squeals and giggles turned to shrieks and howls as dog lifted his leg on a bush and peed all over some hidden eggs. Trying to salvage my dignity, I rushed over to the dripping foliage as the planner of the event said, straight-faced, "All the candy inside is wrapped." Um, yeah, I'm gonna feed it to my kids then.

Hmmm, dilemma. I wasn't planning on touching any of the urine soaked orbs. Candy or not, I was perfectly fine leaving them there. Yet, clearly I was expected to extricate the treats inside and do something with the plastic ick. As I tried to decide which story I wanted to be remembered by - the cad who left the potty eggs there or the lady who touched dog pee at the Easter breakfast - I was stunned that about seven of the hunting kids stood watching to see what I would do. Apparently urine is more exciting than egg hunting. Who knew.

Reluctantly pulling a napkin out of my pocket, I picked up the eggs, wiped them off and gingerly carried them to a trash can where I deposited the toxic waste. The kids watched the entire time. Dog watched the entire time. I just prayed hubby didn't see this, as he would undoubtedly renew my social restrictions he only recently lifted. He didn't see me, but I was sure later on we would have this conversation:

"Hey Az, did you hear about the lady that was carrying urine soaked Easter eggs around the party? I wonder who it was..." And the whole time I would be cringing muttering to myself...'wait for it, wait for it, wait for it...' until it finally dawned on him that Urine Chick had to be me, and he would not be allowed to leave me unsupervised ever again.

Nor would we be invited back.