Lynette was absolutely crapping herself. She knew what she was doing was illegal. She sat in the air flight for sixteen hours worried silly.
Back home she had a lake. It was a beautiful lake at the end of sprawling lawns with weeping willows. There was one thing the lake lacked: white swans. There were no white swans in the country, only black ones. Black swans weren’t as graceful as white swans. Oh for white swans gliding on the lake!
Lynette had hidden three swan’s eggs in her luggage. She could get fined thousands of dollars if Customs officials discovered them. Why had she done it? Why? Why? The flight home was sixteen hours of pure stress. Perhaps she should own up to it.
The plane landed. Lynette collected her luggage and proceeded to pass through Customs.
“You’re fine,” said the Customs official waving her through without even checking.
You’ve no idea! You’ve no idea! The relief! Oh! The relief! Lynette was over the moon. All she needed now was an incubator.
Anyway, the next morning Lynette’s husband had them for breakfast.
Listen the story being read HERE!
All that angst for breakfast
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Not just angst – given the size of a swan’s egg I’d say it was no yoke.
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Oy vay!! Obviously Lynette doesn’t cook breakfast and forgot to tell the maid……….
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It will surely be the maid’s swan song…
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Bruce, the pH story of yesterday was a “sign” I thought so I bet on “Phair Game” in the race that stops the nation…..turned out my hunch was right because the horse that won had a phemale jockey, a phirst in the history of Melbourne Cup.
As for Lynette, serves her right for not cooking for her husband.
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Help! I always take a bet in the Melbourne Cup and forgot!
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You phorgot???
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I phorgot 😦
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Riddle: How do you turn 3 swan eggs into a goose egg?
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😀 I guess she had poached the eggs in the first place!
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Oh, lol! All that mendacity for naught!
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Indeed! Such audacity!
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How did he mistake a swan’s egg for a hen’s egg? Or else he was just a real meany with a yen for large yolks..
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Yours is a question that I considered trying to get around when writing it, and in the end thought, blow it, it’s just a story! He possibly wouldn’t be able to finish a single egg, let alone three! When I was visiting the Chatham Islands (they’re part of New Zealand but in the middle of the Pacific Ocean) I was asked how many eggs I wanted for breakfast. I said, two. I didn’t realize they were going to be swan’s eggs!
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NOOOOOooooooooo!
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Yessssssss!
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Well I bet he had egg on his face when she told him the story. But damn, his flatulence was something awful for the next three days!
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Flatulence out of his cygnet ring?
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Tragedy has a way of springing up from the most innocuous of crevices of life.
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That’s it in a nut shell… I mean… in an eggshell
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Indeed!
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You have been very busy reading and commenting! Thank you umashankar!!
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I seem to be running out of time for my indulgences with each revolution of the sun. I’ve been planning to read your stories.
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I know the feeling… I enthusiastically get up at 5 am – and by 3pm – like a beautiful flower I like to say – I have wilted and am ready for bed!!!! I fight sleep until 9pm and then collapse. So little achieved.
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