My Dad is Freezing His Eggs
While this my sound like the premise of a new show on ABC that’s attempting to be progressive, it’s my life.
I went home the weekend before last to see my parents in Cincinnati. In addition to seeing them, I was excited to see their new condo. They recently threw away all of my elementary trophies and Yu-Gi-Oh cards and moved out of my childhood home, or, as they called it, “downsized”.
Upon my arrival to their new, lovely, ranch condo, I was treated to a tour. The place truly looked fabulous – a new location with enough familiar pieces to make it still feel like home. I learned that the previous owner had a bit of a clock fetish (CLOCK, with an L), and was thrilled to see that the total clock count for the condo had been reduced to an adequate number. At one point during the tour, my dad and I split off to go check out the garage – as everyone knows, there’s no better father/son bonding than admiring the craftsmanship of wall-mounted shelving.
As we headed back inside, I briefly stopped to open up the fridge/freezer to check it out. Why? I’m not entirely sure. Maybe I subconsciously wanted to check if my dad had stocked up on Dr. Pepper prior to my arrival. He had, but he got the 8 oz. cans – undeniably too small for one sitting, but two of them is just a bit too much. The whole trip was in jeopardy as a result. Be better, Randal.
Before I closed the freezer, one thing caught my eye. Hidden on the top shelf was a bunched-up Ziploc bag full of frozen eggs. As I’m sure you know, my dad works in poultry, but they weren’t those kind of eggs – they were the other kind.
That’s right – Reese’s eggs. Three months after Easter, my father still had an inventory of the egg-shaped candies in what appeared to be an attempt to brace himself for some sort of chocolate/peanut butter apocalypse. “Why wouldn’t he just buy regular Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups?” you ask – foolish question. In his opinion, the Chocolate to Peanut Butter Ratio (CPBR for short) of the eggs is far superior to any other shape. Trees don’t quite get the job done. Pumpkins? Not even close. And don’t even get him started on those stupid hearts. Nothing else can satisfy my old man like the perfectly ovular springtime classic.
I simultaneously respect the move but recognize just how ridiculous it is. The level of particularity involved in freezing seasonal Reese’s is simply remarkable. While I'm alike him in many ways, I’m sure that I’ll never become as particular about the shape of products as he is...
Sincerely,
The guy who complains about 8 oz. Dr Pepper cans