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C Wolf Forrest

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Member Since: Jan, 2007

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   Recent stories by C Wolf Forrest
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Your Inheritance and Two Boiled Eggs
By C Wolf Forrest
Thursday, August 23, 2007

Rated "PG" by the Author.

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Your Inheritance and Two Boiled Eggs
A Letter to our Daughters - Unpublished

 Dear Daughters:


This is to notify you that on the top shelf in our refrigerator's door there reside two boiled eggs, not to be confused with the fresh ones nestled in their carton on the second shelf.
          I can hear some of you now, exclaiming “Daaaad, why do we need to know that? Is it a crisis?”
          It's a one-word answer: “Your Mom.” Okay, that's two words.
          It happened like this: Yesterday, your mom asked me to boil four eggs so she could make some egg salad. You could, of course, wonder why I would be in charge of boiling eggs and if there was any similarity in this to my being in charge of peeling potatoes. About the first part I will tell you, but for the second part: no, there is no comparison. Your mom loves to eat potatoes but not enough to peel them. If it ever comes to your mom having to serve potatoes at a meal and no one is around who can be suckered into peeling them, she will use potatoes from a box. But you know that part, you have been victims of that peculiarity often enough, remember?
          By the way, in this document I shall be referring to your mom not by name but as 'your mom' as a cautionary measure. I would not want to have this writing falling into the wrong hands such as the Department of Homeland Security since, from the totality of it, it could be quickly determined that this land within our home is anything but secure.
          But back to the egg-boiling. It is really sad but simple. Your mom is under the impression that when she boils water there is no danger whatever since water cannot burn. This has given her a really false sense of security, resulting in many instances of 'burned water.' Your mom puts the water on and walks away. In her mind, since there is no danger of burning, she puts it out of her mind . . . and forgets about it. After all, she has many more important things on her mind than boiling water for eggs or spaghetti. Writing the next epic novel for one thing, you know? It's a good thing we no longer live in the days of having to heat water to take a bath, that could be a BIG mess from a BIG pot.
          Thus, as a safety measure, I have assumed, voluntarily, the task of boiling water. I was tired of having the smoke alarm go off from the hot, smoking and crumpled mess that used to be a pot plus trying to scrub out the burn marks on the stove. In my normally efficient manner, I boiled the four eggs as requested, making sure that they were, indeed, hard-boiled by spinning them on a smooth surface. This spinning is, of course, one that guy missed-I think it was Columbus-on how to make an egg stand on its tip. You mom promptly made the egg salad . . . using two eggs.
          Now tell me honestly, when was the last time someone asked you for fried eggs and you cooked four but only gave them two? What would you have done with the other two? Put them in the refrigerator? To be used when? And how? Maybe you can clarify that for me because this looks very much like some of that mysterious female logic all of you have always tried to tell me about (I almost said “Y'all”-living here in Virginia seems to want to rub off). Anyway, I put the remaining two hard-boiled eggs on the top shelf in our refrigerator's door, just as I said before. But that is not why I felt it necessary to make the official announcement of that event. Again, it was your mom who astounded me with more frog-jump female logic.
          Just a while after the boiling, the eggs-not me, I notified your mom by telling her: “Sweetheart, just so you don't forget, there are two hard-boiled eggs in the refrigerator on the shelf above the fresh ones, okay?” At that moment, I really thought I was performing, if not a public service, at least a sweetheart service for her edification and enlightenment. I am aware that this is self-serving male logic but what do I know? Your mom's reply just blew me away, not a new experience after all these years trying to stay ahead of her utterances or questions.
          “What will they do with all of that?” she asked.
          “Huh?”
          “You know.”
          “Know what? What was the question?” By then I was way past puzzlement. “The boiled eggs?”
          “What boiled eggs? What are you talking about?” Now it seemed to be her turn to look questioningly at me, seemingly wondering why I was confused when everything was so clear to her-and logical, of course.
          “Okay, let's start at the beginning,” I said. When at an impasse, that makes sense. “I told you about the two boiled eggs and you said: 'What will they do with them' What will who do with what?”
          Shaking her head, your mom says: “All our stuff. What will they do with it all? All the things we brought back from Europe and England, they are so precious to me and your question just brought that to mind. What's so hard to follow?”
          Once again put in a position where I'm the doofus and your mom is the brilliant one, I replied: “I was only asking about two boiled eggs, not our daughters' inheritance in total. I would suggest that we just add an amendment to our wills and add the hard-boiled eggs, although there may be some territorial disagreements on how to divide two eggs into four parts. But what the hell, they are hard-boiled and can be cut. Jeeez . . . . I'll just send them an e-mail so that they are forewarned, okay?” The sarcasm was dripping and I was not doing myself any favors, as you might know.
          Your mom gave me that look, you know the one? The one that says that her feelings are being hurt, which may lead to something more serious, maybe tears? “You mean, my question is not legitimate?” she asks.
          “Of course, it is, sweetheart,” I said “A perfectly good question. I had wondered about that myself a time or two, just not in connection with the two hard-boiled eggs. I have an idea.”
          “Huh?” Switching the tables, as it were.
          “We'll invite them all to dinner again, we do that quite often anyway, and we ask them what their plans are with regard to all our stuff. How does that sound?” I sincerely am not interested on what you intend to do with our stuff after we both have croaked and I'll guarantee you lovely four daughters that you will do nothing with it before that. Got that? Just kidding, you can always ask.
          But there it is. Give me a call when it will be convenient for you to come visit for dinner, with your husbands, of course, for those of you who have one (hint) plus your kids . . . oops, there are none yet, I forgot (hint).


All my Love
Your Dad


PS: Forget about the two hard-boiled eggs, I ate them, depriving you of that inheritance.

       Web Site: Author C Wolf Forrest Website

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Reviewed by Emma Willey 1/21/2010
This one is really funny, and I fear I may be hooked on your writing, which takes a lot of time away from my own. Oh well, I've done my share. Thanks! emma L. Willey
Reviewed by 000 000 12/27/2008
Enjoyed this!
A very humorous story
Reviewed by Cilla Worthen 9/24/2007
Very clever write. Enjoyed it very much.
Reviewed by Mary Coe 9/9/2007
It was clever of the dad to just eat the two boiled eggs. An excellent write. Enjoyed the read.
Reviewed by Karen Vanderlaan 8/23/2007
this is precious to me-what a sweet write full of human relations, love, interactions etc..i loved it




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