You monsters love to see me in tears, so here’s the annual Easter Bunny shot, trotted out again to bring you your yearly dose of pleasure in my discomfort. It remains Suzie’s most favorite picture of me, and for years it stood framed in her house. (How and why anyone would send it to other people is beyond me. It’s a veritable photographic record of how to torture a child.)
At the mall the other night, I looked over to see a line snaking its way toward an explosion of fake flowers and plastic grass, and in the center of it all a sign that read simply, ‘THE BUNNY.” Those poor kids, I thought, with a rare moment of compassion for the little people. All they want is the chocolate non-animated version of that thing. I will say that the Easter Bunny has come a long, friendlier way from the horrifying form he or she used to take when I was peeing in my pants having my picture taken with the beast.
I’ve also come a long way in reconciling my initial traumatic experience, going so far as to approach an Easter Bunny at a Boston brunch last year and conquering the fear. Still, part of me will always recoil at this holiday, and I’m glad you get such joy out of it. Now hop along, there’s nothing more for you to see here.
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