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April 18, 2006
On the Inextricable Nature of Cultural Easter Expectations (or) Mean Eggs
As I walked towards our front door yesterday, a flash of neon orange caught my eye. I paused, readjusted my head to ensure that all neurons were continuing to fire properly, and peered into the tumble of green stuff that borders our front walk. Yep, bright orange.
And there. Nearby. Was that a trick of the light or really a smooth, neon green...something? I gingerly pushed through the mix of ornamental grass and stubborn, sticky weeds and pulled out two plastic Easter eggs: one orange, one green.
They felt disappointingly light.
I shook them, just to make sure.
Nope, empty.
The resulting contemplations on this mystery ricocheted shamelessly between rationality and pop culture musings. Empty...not from Noel. Not the Easter Bunny...oh, crap, unless it was the Donnie Darko bunny. That would be awesome. Probably not too great for the neighbors' kids, though. Did they put these eggs here? No, they weren't home for Easter. Passing neighbor on a massive egg hunt? Would they walk all the way up the hill to our house? How about Todd Willison dressed as the Easter bunny as in the Catacomb plays of yore, looking eerily like Donnie Darko. Were Easter bunnies scary to me before I saw that movie? I guess even if there was candy in here it wouldn't be the wisest thing to eat it anyway. Do Ukrainians have Easter bunnies?
I went inside and tried to console myself with a slice of paska. What I really wanted, though, was Easter chocolate.
Unhelpful eggs.
Carefully Dramatized Life Accounts | By elissa | 11:55 AM
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