My Life: A Walmart Commercial

I don't shop at Walmart...I have before, but it's something I try to avoid at all costs (no pun intended.)  Lately, they've been using a commercial where you see a shopping conveyor belt rolling along with a bunch of seemingly unrelated items until you see the person who bought them in a predicament that brings all the items together.  I've realized how very true that is.  You all know that I clean Kindsay's room on occasion...usually when the smell gets bad, when I can't see the floor, or when there's a gnat--whichever is first.  Once again, I found myself cleaning the room.  I'm all alone (I stayed home from work for a special reason), and I'm carrying a garbage bag because...let's face it...90% of the stuff I'm picking up is going in the trash.  I start at the door and work my way to the bed and along the way run into quite a scene....batteries, hm...the socks are pulled out of her drawer, hm....here's a stack of books on a stool that need to be put away, hm...flashlights, three to be exact, on the ground by her bed, hm...a cardboard box, hm...stool is pulled to the lamp by the closet, hm...WHAT'S GOING ON?  Oh no, these items were not random.  Let's back up a bit.
Picture it...eighth grade functional skills room with twelve plus children with varying disabilities and they are gathered around a new display to go over a science concept.  In the midst of these fine children is an incubator with an egg inside, heat emitting from a large bulb in the center while the egg is nestled amongst warmth on the floor.  A few days of watching this spectacularly fascinating egg go by and Voila! Baby chick.  I was not aware of this incubator lab going on, so when I was cleaning her room, I had no idea that Kindsay Einstein Edison was working on her very own self-made, home-based lab...with an egg out of her friend's fridge. 
So the normal human is not going to permit eating a fertilized egg that contains an embryo.  Yummy...sizzling baby and bacon...no.  The eggs I eat are not fertilized and are for my consumption, not my breeding.  Kindsay, the darlin', doesn't get that.  Remember--I left the male out of the reproduction talk?  Now it's coming to bite me...go for it...everything does eventually. 
Back to Kindsay.
Kindsay comes home mortified that I cleaned her room.  Where is all my stuff??  Uh...the trash, where it belongs.  The room was a mess, Kins.  In her most graceful tantrum, she puts together her incubator and pulls an egg nestled at the bottom of a Hanes-Her-Way sock out of her backpack and puts it in the cardboard box, which is sitting on a stack of books, which are set upon her stool, which is pushed up beneath the burning heat of her lamp, which is multiplying its heat with three flashlights that are perfectly aimed at the egg sock.  The conveyor belt all makes sense now.  As I futilely try to explain that there is not going to be a chick any day now, (she has taken the sock to school and took it to church, of course I'm unaware of this!) she is shaking her head, pulling up the laptop on her lap in her bed, and looking up incubators for purchase.  Even though she found a heck of a deal at $50, there was no way I'd ever give the girl another birthday buck again as long as I lived if I thought for a moment it was going towards the purchase of an incubator so she can breed an army of chicks that would turn into chickens, which would make her chicken coop of a room an actual chicken coop.  Of course my heart was broken for her knowing that she'd most likely never experience the joys of procreation and birth (help us all), but at the same time, if I gave in to her now I'd only end up getting bit in the end as she would be begin breeding anything that had potential to live in her room...and that would include more than my nerves can handle.  Not gonna happen.  Yet, compromise always prevails with Kindsay because she will perseverate over this till I jump off my roof, so I tell her--take it to your classroom--maybe your teacher will let you use her incubator!  The light bulb over her head goes on, the bedroom light bulb goes off (along with all three flashlights), and then...I was content and so was she.
Follow up:  Kindsay came home the next day sans egg sock.  I thought she'd come home in complete despair having lost her precious egg as her teacher broke the news of the non-fertilized egg.  Oh, the teacher broke something alright...and it wasn't just the bubble Kindsay bobbed around in..."Where's the egg, Kindsay?"  Oh oh...she says...we broke it, the egg is cracked and we threw it out.  Onward.