Remains of the Egg

I talked to my friend Wendy in Denver tonight on the phone. She said she was baking a casserole for dinner. I said, “That sounds good.” She said she was only doing it because “It’s so goddamn cold here right now I need the oven to help warm up the house.”

“Oh,” I said. “Then I probably shouldn’t tell you about the weather here.”

Her voice was a monotone. “Go ahead. Tell me.”

“83.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No. My apartment got so hot I actually had to turn on the air conditioner for a little bit this afternoon.”

There was a pause. Then: “You shouldn’t have said anything about the air conditioner. Now I’m just pissed off.”

Yes, spring has sprung in South Texas. The redbuds are in bloom and so are the pear trees, which means my allergies are on overdrive and that pisses me off. Don’t get me wrong – I’d rather have itchy sneezy watery eyes in February than have to dig my car out of a snow bank, but still. It’s weird to be looking for a shady spot to park the car when 90% of the trees are still bare.

I can tell it’s spring in other ways. My dog, Iris is staying with me while my ex is out of town. When we take our walks through the neighborhood, more dogs are on the loose than in recent months. They’re the well-fed, pampered pooches with ID tags and clean coats that you usually see being walked by their owners. On these springlike days, instead of leashes they’re wearing exultant looks that say, “I couldn’t stand the fence a minute longer! Ah! Freedom!”

This morning when we stepped outside for our morning walk I immediately noticed something odd. “Why is there so much Styrofoam on the driveway?”

Then I noticed Tapioca, my neighbor Mary’s cat, who appeared to be eating some of the Styrofoam. At this point, Iris began to convulse gleefully before joining Tapioca in lapping up the carnage on the concrete. My second slow thought, then: “Why are there broken eggs all over the driveway?”

Finally it hit me: the target was my car! “Who hates me enough to egg my car?” My ex, who’s out of town, has a very precise throwing arm, so I doubt he would’ve missed seven times from any distance. Besides, this wasn’t his style at all …

Then I remembered the weather. Plus, other yards on our block bore egg remains. It’s a decidedly springtime activity – kids bearing egg cartons riding around in the middle of the night with the windows down, looking for targets. (However, it must be pointed out that future baseball stars the wayward teens who targeted my car clearly are not.)

Mary’s summation was this: “They must be rich kids. Think about it – the price of eggs these days?”