What came first, the egg or my insanity?

I should be polishing my speech for tonight. I'm worried about talking in front of adults—especially people attending a university. I bet all of the women will be wearing classy boots. And to think, I just got used to talking to children. But, I'm bringing my trusty violin along. I know that and Melynda will make things much better.
    So, instead of preparing, I'm being a slacker. I HAVE to tell you about what happened yesterday though. It was one of the most frustrating, hysterical, SURREAL days of my life. It all started when my girls got home from school.
    "We celebrated April Fool's today, since the real April Fool's was on Sunday," the Hippie said. Then she told me about her entire day—which was wonderful. She loves telling stories. Gee, I wonder where she gets that from? But the last part took me off guard and I blinked.
    "What did you just say?"
    She took a deep breath and spoke again. "My friend and her dad went to the park last night. They scared some ducks away and found this." The Hippie held up an egg. It was slightly larger than a chicken egg and so dirty it was hard to tell what color it really was. "She wants to be my friend so much, that she gave me a duck egg. I'm worried though, I've never been a mother. Is it really as hard as you say?"
    I just gawked at the egg.  Of course being a mother is hard! Plus, had she seriously brought something like that home?! "Hon, we don't know if that's a real story. We don't even know what's—"
    "My new friend WOULD NOT lie. And at last recess, I held the egg close and it actually moved in my hand. Then this little crack showed up."
    Yes indeed, there was a crack—the size of Milwaukee. "Can I hold it?" I asked—terrified it would crack all of the way and a goose would hurtle toward my neck.  I don't have good luck with ducks or geese, or birds in general.  And who knew what that egg contained?

    "Sure.  You can hold it." The Hippie handed it over, oblivious to my concern.
   "It's so warm," I said breathlessly, holding it like a baby.
    The Scribe was equally enthralled. Too bad we had no idea what hung in the wind.
    
    Could it be a duckling? Or a goose so evil I'd never recover? Could it be breakfast? 

To be continued . . . tomorrow. I better get going on this speech, but I can't wait to share the rest of this story with you.

What do you think will happen next?