A Pair of Smashers
by Rachel Ragg
Kate Middleton is sitting in a limousine on my work surface.
Oh, go on then: it’s not the real Princess Catherine of Middleton. It’s an egg sitting in an egg-box. But my daughter swears blind that it’s Kate.
“Can’t you see her hair?” she says indignantly, pointing to the brownish splodge somewhere near the reddish one (that’s her lipsticked mouth, apparently).
“Ohhhh … yes,” I say dutifully, nestling her back into her egg-box limo.
My daughter was very proud of her egg-princess. Until, that is, we got to Beavers.
There, we were greeted by the most astonishing range of eggs you could ever encounter. The Eggs-Factor (complete with wigs, stage and disco lights); an Egg-splosion (a Chemistry lab with an egg-head professor); an egg flying a Lancaster bomber. Some parents obviously have too much time on their hands.
“I don’t think I’m going to win,” my daughter sighed.
Unsurprisingly, she didn’t. That honour went to the egg-doctor and his eggs-ray machine. But as I look at Princess C on my work surface, I think that she and my daughter are both simply smashing.