Chocolate Bunny Heads

Error:  Did a little research (it hurt)...apparently, Orthodox Easter isn't until May 5th.  Oops.  Something to do with the moon.  And the Julian Calendar.  Which I thought told me when to serve french fries.  Silly me.  Those are julienne fries.  So, the "Easter candy on sale joke" really wouldn't apply.  My bad.  Carry on.

"So, next time, do a little research, A-Hole.  But, I will be buying me some Cadbury eggs tomorrow and sticking them in the freezer for a few weeks.  Thanks for the suggestion."

    Even though the countdown to Easter commences following Ash Wednesday, it really begins when chocolate Cupids are exchanged for chocolate rabbits.

    The most sacred of Christian holidays, it's a mystery how it came to be associated with bunnies, ducks, and chicks.  I was always amazed at how happy those little animals seemed, considering that giving them to my brothers and I was tantamount to a barnyard death sentence.

"Okay, so how is it that we're associated with Easter eggs?"
"Don't you remember that one night we all got blasted and snuck into Farmer McGregor's chicken coop?"
"Ohhhhhhhhh....."

     Equally mystifying is trying to figure out exactly when Easter falls, besides on a Sunday.  Thanksgiving is easy, Christmas is simple, Columbus Day is Canadian Thanksgiving, and everyone knows New Years Eve is, well, the night before New Years Day.  But Easter...?  Well, it ain’t as simple as that.

    Based on the last full moon during leap year when the vernal equinox is on a Wednesday and the moon is in its summer house and Jupiter aligns with Mars, I always knew exactly when Easter was: either March or April.

"Come on, now, someone's being lazy." 
"Yeah, didn't you use that 'Jupiter aligns with Mars'
joke once already?"

    Of course, this just applies to Christians other than the Eastern Orthodox, Russian Orthodox, or Romanian Orthodox Episcopate (whatever they are).  These know-it-alls use the Julian Calendar so, by their reckoning, Easter is a week later.  I think. Meh.  They're just showoffs with funny hats anyway.

"Plus, all the Easter candy is on clearance. 
Didn't think about that, did you, funny man?"

    In any event, it's a glorious time of year, which started off with the traditional coloring of the Easter Eggs.

    Beginning with stern admonitions from my father to make sure we didn’t get dye all over the $20 table he bought at Railroad Salvage, our dipping of hen fruit in colored vinegar water rituals started out serenely enough.  Until they degenerated into sloppy free-for-alls where we got more dye on each other than on the hard-boiled eggs.

Because nothing says "Easter" quite like lukewarm water, vinegar, and Rit.  Amen.

    Satisfied with our work (and out of dye), we then proceeded to seed our garishly colored prizes throughout the house in preparation for a family hunt the next day.  Nothing was off-limits as we deposited eggs in the most obscure places, all the while listening to our father proclaim that he would make the finest egg salad in all the land.

    Unfortunately, nobody kept track of how many eggs were hidden or where they were laid.  This resulted in an incomplete tally, but we didn’t mind.  We had loads of other goodies with which to stuff ourselves.

"Okay, that should do it.  How many we got?  24, 23?  Whatever.  By the way, I also make killer deviled eggs."

    

    No worries.  Until the dog found an especially pungent bearded egg behind the stereo on Labor Day.   

    Colorful eggs scattered throughout our home, our excitement reached a fever pitch as we knew that, come the dawn, we’d tumble down the stairs to see what the Easter Bunny had brought.  A sort of discount reenactment of the Christmas frenzy, Easter morn was a candy gorge-fest which propelled us into a sugar buzz not seen since December 25th.

"Oh, yeah?  Well, let's see you schlepp your freak rabbit ass all over the world dropping presents to millions of kids  
Even the Muslim ones!!

    

    Our baskets overflowed with all manner of sweets.  Sure, there were the proverbial candy Easter eggs and jelly beans, but my favorite had to be the chocolate bunnies.

We would also accept, "Chocolate Footballs" at Christmas.

    What kid doesn’t delight in first lopping off the hapless candy rabbit’s ears-“Look, Mom, a squirrel!”?  This confectionary mutilation was then joyfully followed by the rabbit’s ritual decapitation, leaving only a headless lump.  Indeed, what a sad end for a creature whose only crime was being in CVS only a few days before.

"You sadistic bastard!"

    I remember being disappointed that my bunnies were hollow.  I would have much preferred they’d be solid, although I probably would have broken my teeth gnawing on a fifteen pound hunk of chocolate.

On the other hand, eating a solid hunk of chocolate
probably wouldn't have been a good idea.

    Licking our lips as we finished savaging our Brer Rabbits or Lucky Ducks, we then turned our attention to the little chocolate-covered rabbit/duck/chick marshmallows and the yellow sugar balls known as Peeps.

    As we sadly hit the bottom of our baskets, we knew exactly what to do with the black licorice jelly beans and candy-coated almonds:  fling them at our little brother.

Excuse me, jelly beans of color.
Incidentally, what kind of freak bird lays these?

    Our mouths ringed in melted chocolate, our teeth encrusted with Peeps detritus, and our vision blurred, we blearily glanced at the clock above the television.  Wow, not even eight o’clock.

    Or, in other words, as our mother cheerfully announced from the kitchen, “Okay, kids, breakfast!”

    Yippee!  I’m cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs!

    After the obligatory hour at Church (because that's really the point), we headed back home to finish off any candy we had so carelessly missed earlier that morning.

    Mom, meanwhile, began intense preparations for the Easter “feast.”

    For some reason, ham was always the meat of choice to celebrate Easter.  Unlike the pterodactyl-sized turkey we devoured at Christmas, it seemed appropriate to give equa   Our mouths ringed in melted chocolate, our teeth encrusted with Peeps detritus, and our vision blurred, we blearily glanced at the clock above the television.  Wow, not even eight o’clock.

    Or, in other words, as our mother cheerfully announced from the kitchen, “Okay, kids, breakfast!”

    Yippee!  I’m cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs!

    After the obligatory hour at Church (because that's really the point), we headed back home to finish off any candy we had so carelessly missed earlier that morning. l time to eating another barnyard animal.

    I thought it had more to do with the fact that my mother didn’t have to defrost a ham for three days, pull its gizzards out, stuff any available cavity she found with Wonder Bread, and cooking it before the sun came up.

Plus, I think ham was a perfect "FU!" to
the Finegolds down the street.

    Eventually, Easter Sunday drew to a close.  As we sat transfixed by the litter of candy corpses and the sight of Pharaoh drowning in the Red Sea on TV, a thought struck us like a lightning bolt from the blue:

    No more chocolate bunnies for another year.     

    Whew.  Thank goodness for Halloween.

 

"Hey, look on the bright side.  In a couple days, you can have a ham sandwich."

    Okay, I may have gone a bit too far.

"That you did, boyo.  That you did."