Rotten luck

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I don’t know what was inside those hollow plastic “prize eggs;” I never found one, either. Gold doubloons, I’ve always imagined. I remember the macho thing to do in elementary school was to break boiled eggs on your forehead at the post-egg hunt Bacchanalia. There would always be a raw egg or two in the lot—by way of accident or sabotage, I cannot say. I never got one of those “prize eggs,” either. My childhood was very boring.