But put them in the fist of a 5 year old and they become a menacing tool of stress-induced over reaction.
'OH MY GOD! Please tell me that's not...it's not...an EGG that you're holding is it?!'
What follows is a slow motion dive across the living room to retrieve said weapon from his dirty grasp before it drops on the new rug. I must admit it was actually pretty impressive. Any ladies cricket teams out there that are recruiting at the moment - call me. Lets talk numbers. Once the gash on the side of my head has healed anyway.
It may possibly have been that my reaction was slightly over dramatic. I mean, it's not like I live in a pristine palace of cleanliness or anything. But I do try sometimes. And the rug is new...
Anyway, in order to curb more egg episodes and an early death by heart attack - I got him one of these:
It's a bouncy egg. He drops it. It bounces. What could possibly go wrong?
Well I'll tell you shall I?
Since that fateful day I have not once, not twice, but three times been duped into believing that Bouncy Egg was a real egg. There it sat in the egg box, innocently waiting to be cracked open by me, whilst the 5 year old looked on with a glint in his eye.
Egg fried rice became 'fried rice', boiled eggs with soldiers became 'toast', and chocolate cake became - 'Hah! didn't think that one through did you buddy?!'
Being fooled three times by a five year old is enough for anyone, so since then I have been on high alert.
The other day when he walked into the room with a bulge in his pocket and a face that said 'I know something you don't know' I finally knew I had him.
'What you got there then Baxter?'
'Oh, just a real egg' he said shrugging his shoulders.
'A real egg is it?' I asked, knowing Bouncy Egg was stuffed there safely in his pocket.
'Yep a real egg' he replied smiling.
'Oh is it now...'
I pounced, tickling him to the ground and wrestling bouncy egg out of his pocket.
Except....
Yep. Real egg. Smashed. On the new rug.
Feck it. The damn kid is just smarter than me.
