“What happened? Who did that? What happened?” She asked again and again, only less enthusiastic each time. “I don’t want to spend the day,” finally she siad.
“You don’t want to spend the day where?” I asked.
“You don’t want to spend the day where?” I asked again.
“I don’t want the clock to ring. I don’t want the egg to ring.”
“She never wants the egg to ring,” her mother told me once. I’d forgotten, but it was true.
She, in fact, hated it when the egg would ring. It told her that time was up. And time should never be up. Time moves downward, spirals. In circles. To the left and to the right, but never up.
In fact, the only thing that moved “up” were ladders and stairs. And hey didn’t move up, they simply went up. It’s a zen thing, I think.  I tried not to think about it.
The egg rang.
“DOn’t ring that!” she said.
“Who said that?” she asked.
“The Egg,” I said.
“I don’t want the egg to make that noise,” she said.
“It’s done now,” I said.