Smells like rotten eggs to me...

You know, every time you think you’ve reached the absolute pinnacle of parents behaving badly, you find that you’re only at the base camp & still have 6500 feet to climb.

I’m referring, this time, to the cancellation of this year’s Colorado Springs, Colo., Easter egg hunt primarily because last year there was basically a parental riot.

There was a roped-off area with little plastic eggs scattered over the grass of a local park. But the Lexus Louts apparently swarmed over the ropes to scoop up the bunny booty for little Brittany & Harley.

It’s not like the eggs were hidden—the biggest danger to the little ones would be stepping on the eggs. & it’s not like the eggs had any intrinsic worth—they were stuffed with candies & coupons from local businesses.

It’s all to do with the adults’ unbelievably skewed view of what’s owed to them & their spawn, & their determination to make it happen, regardless of how reprehensible their actions may be or how cringeworthy they look.

I never got that whole “Baby on Board” sign thing—that proclamation that the greater world should somehow cede right-of-way because your Range Rover is transporting a child. It was immediately clear to me that the “baby” involved was behind the wheel.

& now, apparently, they’re spilling out onto the fields of plastic eggs.

I suppose people should feel relieved that they weren’t armed with lacrosse sticks.