Guest Blogger: Playwright, Nayna Agrawal

photoPurple Eggs in the Car(ton) came to me one night, as many of my ideas for writing do.  And, of course, it just so happened to be at a time when I had no paper on me (I know, bad amateur writer move).  But, in my defense, I am rarely dressed up for a cocktail party and my cocktail purse allows only for my keys, shiny chapstick and mace (for the walk home). 

So, I grabbed all the business cards I’d collected over the course of the evening (I’m better at being chatted up than being prepared) and wrote it out in the bathroom of the Orrington Hotel in downtown Evanston where I currently reside (not the hotel – in Evanston).  It was 1 a.m., I had had 4-inch heels on (oh, how I miss the cushier feet of my 20s!) for five hours and I really needed to make the walk home sooner than later to avoid having to sidestep the drunken frat boy puke splattered across the sidewalks. 

Purple Eggs to me embodies one of those coming-of-age questions we women find ourselves asking in our late 30s: “How badly do I want to have a baby?” and all its manifestations.  Some of us are married when we ask this, some of us are in committed relationships, some of us are in the early stages of a relationship and some of us are single.  Regardless, I have had this conversation with so many of my friends, with all the aforementioned statuses represented, and it’s never easy and always emotional. 

I started to imagine what two friends who share a bond of kinship but hold very discrete stances on having a baby would look and sound like.  How would they support one another?  Would it get touchy?  Would it be symbiotic or destructive to their relationship?  I also wanted it to feel ubiquitous so I placed this very private moment in a very public (and accessible) setting: the Chicago El train.

As a budding writer, I hope that my words will raise questions, foster empathy and bridge divides we experience with our closest friends when the moment or subject matter gets heated.  Lastly, I must effusively praise and thank Tiffany Antone, my fellow writers, my peer reviewers, our directors and  LittleBlackDressINK.org for granting me this exceptional opportunity and stroking my ego (read: inferiority complex).   Thank you for reading and supporting me!

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