Anne’s Very Bad, No Good, Awful Egg Hunt

By Anne T. Parrot

In my 23 years of hosting the most elegant, well-curated, and spiritually fulfilling Egg Hunt this side of the gated community, this has to be the worst one. And let me say this right up front: none of it was my fault.

Let’s begin at the top. Or, more accurately, let’s begin with the bottom-feathered meteorological betrayal of one McCloud Parrot, our so-called weather bird. He personally told me — told me! — that I would have perfect weather. Do you know what I got instead? Humidity, clouds, drizzle, and a light breeze that frizzed my head plumage. Didn’t see THAT in the forecast did we?

Of course, things got worse.

The landscaper did not show up. Why? Something about labor shortages. The result? The hedges were overgrown, the rose trellis looked like a jungle snare, and you needed a machete just to find the mimosa table. Several guests wandered off and were not seen again until after the hailstorm.

Then came the caterers, or should I say, the cast of a tragic sitcom. They were short-staffed, undertrained, and—how do I put this delicately?—not the sharpest beaks in the aviary.

Instead of bringing hard-boiled eggs for the Egg Hunt — the universally understood tradition that has stood the test of time and Pinterest boards — they brought… egg rolls. Yes. Egg rolls.

You may be wondering: Anne, how does one confuse eggs and egg rolls? I’ll tell you how: a complete and total collapse of standards in modern service industries, that’s how. And let me assure you, an egg roll is not an egg.

An egg roll is, in fact, brown, cylindrical, and apparently, indistinguishable from days old dog poo. What is worse however, is that several children returned from the hunt with full bags and were expecting to win the top prize.

And when those kids found out they did not win, they got mad. Then they got loud. Then they started chanting “Your Easter Bunny hides Poop!”

Naturally, we pivoted ahead of schedule to the Egg Roll contest. Because I am, above all else, grace under pressure. The event turned into an Egg Roll Egg Roll, in which guests rolled egg rolls across the lawn with a spoon. (Again — not my plan.)

The competition was fierce, feathers were ruffled, and tempers flared. In the end I prevailed a-gain, maintaining my undefeated record for 23 consecutive years. Was it close? Not really. Was I the only contestant who is not a toddler. Maybe. Home field advantage? Oh yeah.

Anyway, Just as I was about to distribute the monogrammed trophies and take my annual victory lap around the koi pond, McCloud’s “perfect” weather returned. And by perfect, I mean Biblical chaos: hail, sideways rain, mudslides, and what I can only describe as an egg roll and dog poop tornado. In the aftermath, there were soggy egg rolls, panicked children, shrieking parents, and dog poop absolutely everywhere.

It was a disaster.

Now look, I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but I know that Karen had something to do with this. Don’t ask me how. I just know. She’s been jealous ever since I banned her kale deviled eggs back in 2017. She said they were “farm to table.” I said they were “an abomination.” The grudge lives on.

And mark my words: I will prove it.

Until then, I’m going to take a long dust bath and schedule an appointment with my life coach-slash-publicist. I need to recover from this national humiliation. And rest assured, next year’s Egg Hunt will be invitation-only, pre-screened, and entirely poop-free.

Squawk if you agree.

– Anne T. Parrot
Still recovering. Still right. Still furious.