I have been known to eggsaggerate….now with that out of the way I can stream of conscious about egg as noun and most likely as an verb.
When I was a kid my older brother would often egg me on to do something I later regretted. Like pinch Mr Horn’s eggs from his chook house. Mr Horn had a lot of chooks and that always meant a lot of eggs and what would me taking a few ever matter in the grand scheme of things.
That my brother gave me an egg carton to hold a dozen never seemed an issue until one day I came out with the carton under my arm to meet Mr Horn standing at the gate of the chook house.
No amount of blushing and feeble excuses could cover for the embarrassment of being caught. Across the fence I could sense my brother, his breath held as he awaited Mr Horn’s wrath to descend on me.
Instead Mr Horn took my eggs and me and took me home to my mum who was well aware of the eggings that went on between her two sons.
She diffused the situation by paying Mr Horn for the eggs and agreeing that I would clean out the chook house each week, bag the chook poo and sell it out front and give Mr Horn half of what I made which wouldn’t be a lot. But I did see a way of making a few bob; chook poo was always in demand around our way.
So my business career began in eggnominy and graduated to shit as they say.