A Dark Day for Bunnies

easter bunny

My girls are close to 13 and 15 years old, and yet, we still talk about the Easter Bunny as if he (she?) really existed. I couldn’’t pinpoint the exact year they figured out the truth because they hid it really well. Partly they played (and still do play) along for their parents’’ (our) sakes. And partly, there was simply no upside to admitting they knew it, beyond the chance to be cool and superior among their friends. Neither of my girls has ever seemed to care much about being cool. Once way back in Grade School, my daughter mentioned the Easter Bunny and one of her classmates started taunting her. “”You don’t still believe in that, do you?!”” Her response was to quickly survey the rest of her classmates and to start a club called “”The Defenders of the Easter Bunny”.” Only believers could join. Before long, even the kids who had teased her became born-again bunniers.

Yesterday morning, my husband and daughters were dying eggs in the kitchen when I heard him ask them, ““How would you guys feel if the Easter Bunny left out the egg hunt at our house this year?”” A delicate negotiation followed about what that would exactly mean. They chose their words carefully, tiptoeing around the central issues, and somehow came to an understanding. In reality, if you dropped all the euphemisms and innuendos, the discussion was this:

Husband: ““You guys are old enough now, so can we drop the charade?””
Daughter 1: “”Okay, as long as we still get a present.””
Daughter 2: “”And chocolate.””

Later, we realized we needed some new vehicle for giving them their Easter presents and chocolate if we weren’’t going to do it in the Egg Hunt form. I finally made up two little baskets, snuck them outside and sort of hid them. Before we sat down to Easter dinner, I said ““Maybe you two should go take a look around in the yard before we start eating . . .””

So now the Easter Bunny remains nameless, but the charade continues. I guess it’s a start.

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