Bob stumbled home late one night, very drunk, barely managing to kick off his shoes before collapsing into bed beside his sleeping wife. Within seconds, he was out cold.
The next thing he knew, he was standing somewhere bright and quiet. Too quiet.
In front of him stood a tall gate made of gold. Behind it, clouds. Harps. The whole deal.
A man with a clipboard looked down at him and sighed gently.
“Bob,” the man said, “I’m afraid you died in your sleep.”
Bob’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
“WHAT? No, no, no — that’s not possible! I’m not ready to die. I’ve got plans! A job! A fantasy football league! You have to send me back!”
The man closed the clipboard. “I’m sorry, Bob. There’s only one way back.”
Bob leaned in. “Anything. I’ll do anything.”
“You can return,” the man said calmly, “but only as a chicken.”
Bob’s jaw dropped.
“A… chicken?”
“Those are the rules.”
Bob thought about it. It wasn’t ideal, but being alive as a chicken still sounded better than being dead.
“Fine,” Bob said. “But if I’m going back, send me to a farm near my house. I don’t want to end up in some factory.”
The man nodded.
And suddenly — POOF.
Bob felt strange. Very strange.
He looked down and screamed… except it came out as a cluck.
Feathers covered his body. Wings where his arms should be. He was standing in the dirt, pecking at the ground without meaning to.
“Oh no,” Bob muttered. “Oh no no no.”
A rooster strutted past, chest puffed out like he owned the place.
“Well, well,” the rooster said. “You must be the new hen. First day?”
Bob blinked. “Uh… yeah. I guess.”
“How’s it going so far?” the rooster asked.
“Honestly?” Bob said. “Not terrible. But I’ve got this weird feeling inside. Like pressure. Like I’m going to explode or something.”
The rooster laughed. “That’s just you ovulating.”
“I’m WHAT?”
“Ovulating,” the rooster repeated. “Don’t tell me you’ve never laid an egg before.”
“Of course I haven’t!” Bob snapped. “I was a man yesterday!”
The rooster shrugged. “Relax. Happens to all of us. Just breathe and let it happen.”
Bob panicked. “I don’t think I’m emotionally prepared for this.”
“Trust me,” the rooster said. “It’s no big deal.”
Bob closed his eyes. He breathed. He relaxed.
A few uncomfortable seconds later…
Pop.
An egg dropped beneath him.
Bob stared at it.
His heart swelled.
“My… my egg,” he whispered.
He felt something he had never felt before. Pride. Accomplishment. A deep, overwhelming sense of purpose.
“I made that,” Bob said, choking up.
Before he could even process it, it happened again.
Pop.
Another egg.
Bob was overcome with emotion.
“I get it now,” he said softly. “I finally understand motherhood. This is beautiful. This is miraculous.”
Tears filled his eyes.
As he prepared to lay a third egg, suddenly—
SMACK.
A sharp blow landed on the back of his head.
Bob shot upright, eyes flying open.
He was back in bed.
His wife was standing over him, furious, hand raised.
“For God’s sake, Bob,” she yelled, “wake up! You’re drunk, you’re screaming, and you just CRAPPED THE BED!”
Bob froze.
Then he looked down.
Then he sighed.
“…worth it.”
😄
