I stalked my prey through the wilds of the kitchen, with only my spear and net to protect me. When I caught scent of her, I crouched, peering through the meagre light until, yes, a cache of eggs lay nestled in the brush. My net took care of those, and soon enough I had found her.
Ah, she was a beaut, all pale golden, and she was ready for me. Oh yes.
I threw my spear too soon and thought I'd lost her! She gave a merry chase, but in the end, she succumbed. At last I slid the omelette onto my plate, and realized that I really need to write something if that's how I entertain myself over the stove.
Please say I'm not the only adult person who occasionally does this.