I remember hunts when I was a kid. We’d line up behind a piece of rope, holding our baskets while wearing our Sunday’s best clothing. All the parents would be in front of us, out in the field where the eggs were hidden. The moms with their cameras poised, and dads bent over, clapping their hands in encouragement. Once the rope dropped, it was a free for all. It was really the first competition of my youth where the strongest and fastest kid won. You could body check a kid while running at Mach speed and all you had to do was yell out an apology even though you weren’t sorry. You wanted that golden egg, and nothing was going to stop you. I scooped eggs like it was my job. I was on a mission, crawling around on my hands and knees through the grass. I didn’t care about the thorns from the rose bushes or the bugs that found their way onto my hand.
One year, I found the golden egg. I held it up high, hooting and hollering so everyone could hear me. I even had a victory speech planned. My friends and foes came over, they jumped up and down even though they hadn’t been victorious. I will never forget the moment I took the most sought-after egg to the booth and waited to see what I won. The young woman behind the counter congratulated me, took down all my information, and handed me a brown paper bag not even big enough to hold my lunch in. My friends told me to open it, right then and there. I did, and I cried. All my hard work, strategic planning, and determination yielded a ten-cent rubber ball. I had a bedroom full of them already. That was the last year I participated. From that point forward, I thought egg hunts were stupid. Probably still are, but being in Aruba, surrounded by beautiful women, is giving a whole new meaning to the concept.
This time, I’m guaranteed to be victorious.
Ten of us step onto the stage. We’re dressed in cream colored linen pants, each with a different colored shirt on. We stand in a row, listening to Ryan Cruise, tell us about the game. Of course, we already know the rules because the gopher has drilled everything into our heads.
“Don’t swear.”
“Don’t pick your ass.”
“Don’t grab your crotch.”
“Smile.”
“Never look directly at the camera.”
“Always watch Ryan when he’s talking.”
“Don’t go past the rope.”
“Stay within the yellow boundary.”
“Don’t return to the stage unless you have an egg.”
The list goes on and on. So, I stand here on stage, wishing I could block the bright ass light from shining in my face, all while trying to stare at the former NFL quarterback. You’d think he’d be a big dude, but he’s not. No wonder he had to retire because of injuries.
We’re finally released and the ten of us wander off. One guy immediately goes toward the opposite direction. Clearly, he flunked the listening to directions part of his education. I stuff my hands in my pockets and veer off on one of the paths. If I wasn’t here for a reality show, I’d totally want to take a vacation down here. The ambience is great, and it turns out, I’m a new fan of tiki torches. Although, as a fireman, I find these flames to be a bit high for my liking.
A couple guys brush past me. They’re slightly bent at the waist and it’s almost as if they’re sniffing the ground, looking for prey. I chuckle. They’re taking this game too seriously. Everyone has an egg. Everyone is a winner.
“Yes!” One of the men jumps up and down. He’s holding his yellow egg out like he’s holding the numbers to this week’s lotto drawing. His friend is patting him on the back, forgetting about his own hunt.
I come to the end of the path and spot an egg off to my right. It’s there in a cut-out of the palm tree, plain as day. Too easy. Whoever set it there wants her egg found and that means she’s not the girl for me. I want a woman who likes the challenge, who makes men earn her attention. I look to the left and something blue sparkles amid the yellow flowers. The only problem, if this is an egg, it’s nestled between cactus plants.
“Challenge accepted, sweetheart,” I say aloud as I reach in. My hand is steady, despite the spines scratching my hand. I’m pretty much blind and trying to maintain my crouched position without falling over. Cuts on my hand, I can deal with. My face, not so much.
Finally, my fingers touch the object and move enough to roll it into my palm. Once secured, I stand up and open my hand. The aqua colored egg has flowers painted all over it, with glitter highlighting the petals, and on the bottom there’s a pharmacy symbol. The egg is supposed to tell us about the woman. Obviously, she’s a pharmacist who likes the color blue and loves flowers. But what stands out for me is, she’s adventurous. None of the other things matter because with an island to explore, we’re going to have a blast.
A couple of guys brush past, congratulate me on finding my egg and continue to rush down the path. I don’t bother to tell them there is one in the tree. The object of the game is to hunt and hunt they must.
Back on stage, I stand there, holding my egg. Only a couple guys have returned. We can see others milling around, moving cords and cameras, and Ryan is getting his make-up refreshed while the rest of the contestants return.
Ryan is back in front of the camera, he talks animatedly and recounts our hunt.
“Hudson, how’s your hand?”
I look down at it and smile. “Perfect,” I tell him and the cameras.
He
