boiled: 24 white eggs + 4 brown eggs
cracked: 11 white eggs
dyed: 19 whole or only-barely-cracked eggs
we've got a lot of eggs to eat
...and in not-entirely-unrelated news, I only just discovered that the correct lyrics at the end of the Jefferson Airplane song are "feed your head," and not "treacle-head," as I had been singing for, oh, let's say 25-30 years. In my defense, "feed your head" isn't in the Louis Carrol books to my knowledge, and the dormouse does talk about treacle. To my detriment, I thought for the first 10 years or so that treacle was related to excrement, perhaps because I couldn't imagine anything but water or sewage in a well, and thought living in a treacle well sounded like a horrible thing, and not appropriate tea party conversation at all. Back in my defense, it would certainly explain why poor Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie were so very ill. Living on treacle. Pity.
More whimsicle fuckery: I am, or at least was, a Peep purist. WTF is a Peep purist, you ask? So glad you did. A Peep purist is a person (I'm the only one I know but I'm sure there are others like me out there) who will only buy the classic yellow chick Peeps during the spring. No marshmallow snowmen, no out-of-season chicks, no sugar-dusted hearts or jack-o-lanterns, and absolutely, positively, NO bunnies or those horrid neon blue, purple, pink, orange, or green chicks they have nowadays. A travesty, I tell you. Classic. Yellow. Chicks. Or nothing.
So, it turns out that a Peep purist should not go shopping with three young children if she would like to leave the store with her Easter candy principles intact. I reached for one package of Peeps (I will not call any of the other imposters by that name), and left with two packages of yellow chicks, one package of purple chicks, one package of pink chicks, and - oh, Peeps, I'm so sorry - one package of green marshmallow bunnies. I am a traitor to my own values. What a treacle-head.
