Foreword: I’m currently sitting here in the darkness, with just a weak candle flickering and trying to stay alight. God bless my phone’s Internet capabilities.
As I begun yesterday, but didn’t quite manage to finish, I like telling stories. Some of them are epic tales with a beginning, middle and end. Some of them span countries and years — like the American. The problem is, I tend to travel alone — I meet people while I travel, but I still come home with a massive body of experiences and stories that just need to be told. They’re no good, just locked up there in my head.
Of course, for every grand tale, there are some little ditties that are quite the opposite; they are go-nowhere tales, often with no rhyme or reason at all. They are just fun little stories.
Now, for the last 3 years (since I graduated from university), my main contact with other people has been with my World of Warcraft guild mates. This is the main reason I don’t get to travel with people — most of my friends live in other countries, or are entirely virtual. I may never meet them. These are the people that I tell most of my stories: some of them great; and some of them… Goose Eggs.
The Goose Egg Story was probably the ultimate of go-nowhere stories. It was an elaborate story (I love talking, even if it’s completely pointless, adding intricacies where there really shouldn’t be), about my grandmother… and a goose egg. Basically, I stretched out a tale of how my grandmother fried a goose egg, instead of a chicken’s egg. Let’s face it, it’s not the most wild story, but I told it in such a graphic, detailed way that it was interesting!
Well, I thought it was interesting. The rest of my guild mates, on the other hand, thought it was a bit inane and useless. Thus they branded all of my future, similar stories ‘Goose Egg stories’.
So with that said, I give you one of my Goose Eggs, from Belgrade, Serbia. Unrehearsed, and in just two takes!