The Easter Bunny squeezed through the narrow aisles that now plagued his home. He could hear 2 girls fighting on Jerry Springer on his tv across the room but couldn’t see them because of about a million colorful plastic eggs piled high on the floor and furniture.

Bunny felt sad. He knew those chicks were probably ripping each other’s wigs off. And he was missing it.

He smooshed himself between a mile high pile of boxed Peeps and his kitchen counter. Reaching into a cabinet, he pulled out a can of Spam and cracked it open. Then he pulled his Lucky Strikes and a lighter out of the pocket of his ratty blue terry cloth robe.

The smell of chocolate bunnies and jellybeans in his home overwhelmed him, so as he chomped away at the block of meat and sucked deeply on a cig, he made sure to enjoy the hammy smoke scent sensation as it temporarily hung in the cramped air around him.

Every Spring, Bunny experienced stress to the Nth degree. Sometimes he wished he had never gone into the family business and taken over for his dad. But the old man needed a replacement, none of Easter’s siblings wanted the job, and God knows he spent his entire life just trying to get an ounce of his father’s approval.

So now, once a year, he had the hell of candy prep and one night world-wide delivery to contend with.

He was tamping his cigarette out on the counter next to hundreds of cartons of malted milk ball eggs when he heard his overnight guest attempting to come down his stairs.

“Easter?” she called out. “Where are you?”

“In the kitchen, babe,” he replied.

He heard all kinds of rustling around and muttering of swear words as his lady love walked the crazy candy maze.

Finally she popped into view.

Mrs Claus was pulling her sweater close around her shoulders, her weird little elasticized hat and eyeglasses askew. She straightened the glasses and looked at Bunny.

“There you are!” she exclaimed. “How much candy do you have in this place anyway?”

“You should be used to this kind of thing,” Bun said. “There’s a lot of good little kids out there, I guess…the little bastards.” He lit another cigarette.

Bunny and Mrs Claus looked at each other. In the background they could hear the people on tv cheering “Jer-ry! Jer-ry! Jer-ry!”

They smiled at each other.

“Would you like some Spam?” he asked. She shook her head.

“Cigarette?”

She shook her head again.

“Candy?” He held his arm out like one of those models on The Price is Right.

She laughed out loud.

Bunny cocked his head and smiled. She sure was pretty for an old broad. He liked when she laughed like that. He made a mental note to bump the chocolate rabbit in her Easter basket up a couple of ounces. He didn’t care if her old man noticed. He hoped he did.

“I gotta go,” she told him.

“Hey, I thought you might like to stay and help me assemble a couple million baskets of candy today,” Bunny suggested.

Mrs Claus looked at him like he was insane.

“Like I don’t get enough of that kind of crap at home!”

Bunny walked to her and pulled her into a hug.

“I was just kidding,” he whispered before he kissed her one more time.

Even though he kinda wasn’t.

The two of them wedged their ways to the front door. Before she left, he handed her one of those plastic toys that have a suction cup on the bottom that you stick on the floor and press down so it pops up into the air after a second or two. The character on top of it was in the shape of a bunny.

She took it and smiled at him then walked to her snappy red Mazda Miata parked out front.

And Bunny shut his door, turned on his big bunny heel, and promptly tripped over a bushel of Cadbury eggs in his hallway trying to make his way back to the kitchen to finish his Spam.

When I was a little girl, Easter Sunday was second in my good graces only to the massive juggernaut that was Christmas Day.

We went to church on Easter, dressed in starchy really uncomfortable long dresses but NEVER white patent leather shoes (mom thought white patent leather was cheesy even tho I kinda liked it!)– and I was always completely grossed out by the crucifixion story. I always wondered if my parents were really okay with me seeing the brutality of that story.

I mean, my mom pitched a fit when I wouldn’t go to bed so she could watch the made-for-tv-movie Helter Skelter when it came on my tv in, what–1976?

That was a pretty gross made-for-tv movie, you know?

So why was I able to look at first-born sons getting wooden stakes driven through their hearts and the shit being beat out of Jesus wearing his hideous crown of thorns and being hung in a cross was lost on me.

And honestly–coming back from the dead? Pushing that big ass circular stone out of the way and getting the hell out of dodge? Going to Heaven and whatnot?

I mean, yeh–that’s kind of a cool story. But it’s also kinda hard to believe if you really think about it.

You know, for me personally…even as a small person, I never believed that ever really happened.

I was way more down with the Easter Rabbit bringing me candy and silly toys.

Who cared why an odd and really- unusually smart rabbit would show up in my home to bring me goodies?

I thought a rabbit coming into my home to bring me chocolates was way more likely than a dude dying and actually coming back to life.

For me and apparently my sins.

Yeh. My sins I committed as a small child.

These days, at 50, I know Jesus didn’t die for “my sins” and that the Easter Bunny isn’t real.

However!

I still leave big hunks of banana outside for the rabbit that has been living under my neighbors’ deck for a long, long time.

He’s pretty cute and has been entertaining me for a while now.

I didn’t know rabbits like bananas, did you?

I mean, I didn’t actually see him eating it, but I have seen him hanging out by our old Xmas tree we left out so little animals could take refuge during the cold winter months.

I’m assuming he ate it.

Want to see him?

Here he is–my old buddy the Easter BunBun. Chilling by my hose last week.

Anyway.

I’m rambling.

Today my grown children are with their significant others whose families celebrate Easter, and I am grateful for them showing my little ones (ages 25 and 24) a good time today.

Bill and I?

We’ll enjoy a good dinner together. He is watching some Jason Bourne movie I don’t like and I’m in bed with my cat writing this post.

And BONUS

I feel pretty good physically today.

That’s really nice.

I guess I don’t have much else to say except

Happy Easter.

And isn’t it such a freaking relief the sun and warmth is coming back?

God and Goddess, yes. ❤️

I’m off to switch laundry and throw hash-brown casserole in the oven.

Hash-brown casserole.

Now if that’s not another reason to celebrate, I don’t know what is.

😊