Brent loses Reese Egg challenge

Who would've guessed these could've survived so long inside our house (in a secret location).

Who would’ve guessed these could’ve survived so long inside our house (in a secret location).

It was during last week’s pear-canning session that I discovered I’d won the Reese Egg challenge.

We were several hours into the process, battling boredom and frustration, and just to fill dead air space I casually asked Brent about his stash of Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs.

My brother Brent and his wife Darcy

My brother Brent and his wife Darcy

You may or may not recall that after Easter this year, Brent and I set up a casual bet as to who could make their leftover eggs last longer. He put his in the back of the pantry cupboard, figuring he’d just forget about them. (I’m not sure he even mentioned it to Darcy, because he didn’t think she was as enamored of the eggs as our family is.) I put mine … well, let me think about whether I should reveal their location, given that Colleen usually reads this blog posts sooner or later. Well, OK — I stashed them in the cedar chest. (Note to Colleen: Don’t bother searching; by the time you read this, I will have moved the eggs.)

Anyway, I really did mostly forget about the eggs, because how often do I open or even think about the cedar chest? Those things are pretty much built for longterm storage, kind of like a lockbox for family heirloom textiles (like Grandma Jane’s recently discovered poodle skirt).

Or was it Kyla who ate the Reese Egg stash?

Or was it Kyla who ate the Reese Egg stash?

I pretty much figured I’d lose, though, because sooner or later some moment of desperation would overcome me — probably in a moment when no one else was home to discover and comment upon my act — and I’d remember the egg stash, and that would be that.

But it hadn’t happened yet. I mean, yes, I’ve had those occasional moments of neediness, particularly where chocolate is concerned, but there’s always been something available — a handful of chocolate chips, say, or a granola bar — that, while ultimately less fulfilling, was less of a hassle to unearth.

So really, I was just making conversation when I casually asked Brent about his Reese Egg stash. And I don’t know which shocked me more — the fact that his was gone, or that he hadn’t ‘fessed up to it yet.

“It was Darcy,” he said. “I found a couple of Reese Egg wrappers in the trash one day, and I was like, ‘Oh yeah, the Reese Eggs.’ So then later I thought maybe I’d have one, but when I went to look for them … they were gone!”

I decided not to hassle Darcy, who was up to her ears in pears just then and on the periphery of the conversation zone — I wasn’t even sure she’d heard what Brent said — about whether or not Brent’s version of events was true. But given that Brent had never clued her in about the challenge in the first place, it’s not like she could be held accountable for her actions. I mean, even if you’re just a casual fan of peanut butter and chocolate (hard to believe that anybody really falls into that category, but lord knows there are all types of people in the world), who could resist going into plunder mode if you stumbled across such a discovery?

So anyway, I guess I won. But given that we never came up with a prize or actual bet, I’m not sure I actually win anything. And in the meantime, I’m not sure what to do with my own Egg stash.

I could list them on Ebay, I guess. I looked up some auctions the other day, and they’re going for anywhere from 50 cents to a buck an egg, depending on the size of the lot and the bidder’s degree of desperation. (One seller’s been listing them in lots of 72, which just sounds a bit too dangerous to me!)

Or I could just hold onto them and give them to Brent for Christmas. He called me one day last week to report that he‘d had his first Reese Pumpkin of the season, and found them somewhat disappointing.

“I think the difference is in the creaminess of the filling,” he reported. “The eggs just have a more creamy filling, and I think that’s what makes them better.”

Now that I think about, he gave me this report the day after our Labor Day canning operation, which means that he succumbed to Reese temptation less than 24 hours after our Egg conversation.

Whereas I still haven’t gotten into my Egg stash, or bothered with a Reese Pumpkin, either. But then, after our taste test a couple of years ago, I no longer bother with other seasonal Reese’s peanut butter products. The eggs are all I need.

Cassie models Grandma Jane's recently unearthed poodle skirt, from Somerset High Class of 1952.

Cassie models Grandma Jane’s recently unearthed poodle skirt, from Somerset High Class of 1952.

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