My girlfriend wakes up early, determined to prepare a festive Easter breakfast: a beautifully laid table, including a vase with blooming daffodils and delicious fresh eggs.
She walks down the stairs and, strangely, hears a strange noise from the kitchen.
She gently opens the door and sees her four-year-old son standing there, covered in shrubs.
Just as he, angry and disappointed, smashes the last egg from the box of twelve: “No chick again!”
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