“Let’s have a Spring-like Easter party instead,” I suggested. “Chocolate bunnies and an egg hunt and birthday cake icing in individual servings so everyone can lick the stuff out of their own bowl. And jelly beans everywhere!”
“Only if you swear not to eat the ears off all the bunnies.”
“I don’t swear.”
But I’m good at eating chocolate bunny ears. It’s what I do.
“I’ll get the baskets next time I go shopping. Easter baskets for everyone. That’ll be fun! How many do you think we should invite?”
“No more than 20.”
FORTY chocolate bunny ears! YESSSS!
“I can’t wait.”
“What’s that for?”
“For whatever you’re thinking.”
Last year it was chocolate marshmallow bunnies. Six, count them six, boxes of ‘em. Carefully stacked behind another pile of clutter out of my normal sight lines … until the other pile of clutter caught a gravity storm and slid sideways ought of the way.
“Bethie me love, you think you got enough chocolate marshmallow bunnies this year?”
(Guilty look, slight roll of eyes back in head as she tries to think of something that sounds better than admitting to her planned orgy of bunny-ear-nibbling.)
“Um, most of those are for my mom….”
As indeed they probably were. They say it sucks to get old, and I’m sure it’s true… because your most dutiful children start bringing you boxes of chocolate bunnies with no freakin’ ears!
The old woman may be going blind, but she’s not that blind.