04.09.2004 - 4:47 p.m.

We still do Easter at my parents' house. Since there is a twelve-year age spread among the kids, and the youngest is still in middle school, the "Easter Bunny" still hides candy- and easter grass-stuffed baskets around the house and dyed eggs in the back yard.

When you wake up on Easter, your first job is to find your basket. Not your brother's, although your brother's is most likely the one you will find. If you find your brother's, you better close that TV cabinet (or desk drawer, or oven) back up, and you keep looking.

I am without fail the last person to find the right basket. Every single year.

This may be because the promise of candy isn't really enough to wake me up early anymore. I mean, Peeps are good. And I'll consider killing for Cadbury. But there's usually a good portion of hard gumball-eggs and the added drawback that it is so difficult to tell if you are about to bite into a nice milk chocolate egg, or a craptastic malted milk ball.

You see, the "Easter Bunny" has a weakness for malted milk balls, and he knows that aside from the candy around the bunny cake, his wife will only allow him as many milk balls as his children will trade for the good stuff. He also knows that some children will trade in the chocolate eggs too, just in case.

The "Easter Bunny" can be a crafty bastard, but I love him anyway.

-stonebridge

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