When I was a little girl, I always got the most beautiful, boutique-like Easter basket filled with jelly beans, Peeps, art material, albums, girlie stuff like hair bows, and the expected chocolate bunny. My mom, being the glorious and talented decorator that she is, paid attention to the all the details from the basket to the bows.
I was a very easy daughter to please and very appreciative of the goodies in the Easter basket. I was most excited for the chocolate bunny. Timeless. Nostalgic. Delicious, even more so when it was the chocolate hallow bunny. I couldn't wait to open it up and enjoy noshing on it's ears (always my favorite part!).
Easter HorrorAnd then it happened. The first year I can recall, I was 8 years old; third grade. After Easter service and brunch, I would take off my frilly Easter dress and white gloves, in preparation for chocolate-gluttony!
Before the jelly beans, chocolate eggs, and Peeps, I would go straight for the chocolate bunny. Wrapped in shiny, gold tin foil, it spoke "Heaven on earth". I would be salivating before I even started opening the box it sat in.
I was shocked. Mouth ajar, chin to ground, eyes popping. "Mom! Dad! Someone ate the Easter bunny's ears in the factory and put it in the box!" That was my conclusion. I thought, "It couldn't have been my thoughtful and generous parents, who paid for this chocolate bunny. Why would it be them, if they could just buy one for themselves?!"
"HAHAHHAHAHA!!!!" was my mom laughing so hard, her face red, tears coming from her eyes. My own mom. My own mom!! It made sense. She liked pranks. She liked humour. She was a comic herself based on her countless shocking and hilarious Halloween costumes (pregnant clown anyone?) and all the times she went out of her way to embarrass me in front of my friends and peers.
And so the Easter horror cycle began.