I am at a perpetual disadvantage when it comes to holidays. My immediate family selected the four furthest points of the globe and promptly moved there, and we were never big holiday people to begin with. My sticking point is Thanksgiving, but I also struggle with the greater meaning of Easter. (It's about Jesus and bunnies, right?)
My complete Easter ineptitude burst forth yesterday afternoon. I was down in The WB, Eastering among old friends. Somehow, at age 32, I was roped into my first ever Easter Egg hunt.
This is the sort of thing I am normally extraordinarily good at. If I say the keys are buried in your pocket, that you're sitting on your plane ticket, or that your credit card is at the third, not fourth, bar of the evening? I’m probably right. I can find anything for you in fifteen minutes or less, and all it will cost is one victory lap of the living room.
But throw in some hard-boiled eggs and pastel dye, and I lose the plot. Ask me to wander around the front yard of a home I’ve been visiting for 17 years, and seek my fortune, and I will find…one egg. Out of sixteen. (At least I was competing against fellow adults. Being creamed by ankle-biters would have been even worse.)
I imagine it was like watching a horror movie. “No, you stupid twit, DON’T GO UP THE STAIRS! You don’t need to know what that noise was. LEAVE! LEAVE NOW!” Except it was more like, “Please, for the love of kittens and rainbows, stop walking past that turquoise egg. Look to the left. IT’S IN THE TREE BRANCH YOU RIDICULOUS FOOL!!!!!”
How bad was it? One of my competitors, who had begun the hunt by trying to trip me, kept tossing his (many) eggs into my basket. That’s right, folks, I got pity eggs.
At least other aspects were much easier. I can totally sit down at a table and eat. And I could easily mock the baby in his bunny ears. (I think most infant wardrobe items exist to prevent the child from getting a date until college, when he moves far away from family photo albums.)
But I think that next time, I’m going to have to feign an allergy to dyes, selective amnesia...or maybe just throw myself onto the ground and weep.