Silly rabbit

Dear Easter Bunny,

I have to be honest with you: the magic is gone.

Once upon a time I was smitten by your mysterious ways, your naughty bunny behaviour and your disappearing tricks. I had visions of your long whiskers and that sweet little puff tail and those great big feet. Thump, thump. I always assumed you were a handsome fellow.

I found it bemusing to ponder why a rabbit dropped chocolate eggs everywhere. Mind you, that’s when I hopped around in a mad rush to collect more eggs than my older brother who was nowhere near as fast as me, nor as limber to get into the tricky spots.

Sugar highs were acceptable back then. We didn’t judge one another on our calorie intake or preach the suspected evils of a good sugar rush. Heck no, we encouraged it. Jellybeans were our narcotics. Life was sweet.

I remember my parents suggesting we stop eating our chocolate bunny and “save some for later.” Ha. Yeah, right.

They never appreciated that like all things in childhood, the devouring of the chocolate bunny was a competition. Who could eat both ears first? Then there was that moment of sweet ecstasy when you tasted the sugary sweet crunch of the chocolate bunny’s white candy eyeball with the little blue food-colouring dot.

Good times.  

That was before I had to pay for a family of four to see the dentist. That’s also before my jeans needed Lycra. My perspective has changed.

Just a head’s up: maybe don’t hide the Easter eggs at my house this year. I know it is a game and the kids think it’s fun, but the closer I get to menopause, the less likely I am to find my car keys, the cheque book or the remote control, much less the foil eggs you leave lying about. It’s not nice to trick me.

Besides, I live with three other people who leave everything they own lying all over my house. Do I need another mess to clean up? No, thank you very much. And I don’t need another vet bill either, so I’d rather my dog not sniff out a whiff of chocolate, or I’ll be hopping it to the clinic and then I’ll be hopping mad with you, mister.

(I won’t actually hop though, because we both know I’d likely pee my pants if I tried that move these days. Don’t laugh rabbit. There is nothing funny about incontinence.)

Oh, forgive me, Easter Bunny. I’m just bitter about the winter that won’t end. I take back everything I said, dear friend. My moods seem to be as off balance as the weather. It turns out what I need most of all is the one thing you can provide, the ultimate cure, the happy drug: chocolate. Be a good bunny and hook a pal up, will you?

And look, I don’t mean to be blunt, but if you’re bringing me treats don’t cheap out on the chocolate. Make mine the good stuff, the real chocolate that doesn’t taste like wax. Think dark chocolate, so rich it can be paired nicely with a full bodied merlot, best enjoyed during a hot soak in the tub. Now you’re talking.

See? I’m easy to please. Now hop to it, silly rabbit.

Have a happy Easter.



Kelly Waterhouse