Oh the Easter bunny will be hopping all over the planet this weekend and I can’t wait to drink one too many Skinny Pirates and pass out before he burrows his way into my mini manse Saturday night.
In past years, Easter consisted of the bunny dropping off Underoos, with my sister and I traipsing through the house like manias scaring nothing but the camera.
As we got older, celebrations consisted of egg hunts with cousins, battling for treasures scattered in the yard careful not to knock over the four year old among us (well, I don’t know if we were careful about it but he remained standing).
Traditions have long remained in the family and we’ve had the same baskets since our first Easters (I know, I know. My basket is not the pink one. No clue what in the fuck the bunny was thinking).
What would a family tradition be here at CBXB without a little sneaky trashiness? You see, this man loathes the fake grass used in baskets.
Since Dada CBXB whined, cried and carried on one year about how the ‘damn grass’ gets all over the house, I’ve been more than happy to always hide it in the most unsuspecting places. Under his pillow, in his shoes and last year, the shower.
What’s not to love about little skinny pieces of plastic that can be found in couch crevices, door hinges, car mats, toilet seats, dryer vents and bathroom drains all 365 days until next Easter?
Now that we have twin baby bunnies in the mix, I’ve spent Easter in a new way since we can’t always get together being 1,000 miles apart.
Presently, I get to double fist baskets all day long.
One for me and one for my pussy. (You didn’t think I was getting greedy did you? And yes, you New Cat lovers, he gets a basket too but is such a big, fat baby that he hides whenever there is any kind of commotion going on, OK?)
Whatever your Easter traditions may be, here’s hoping the day is filled with glee!