The Easter Bunny did not bring me an Easter basket this morning which is good news as I’m a diabetic and can’t eat candy. If the Easter Bunny had brought me an Easter basket, it could be a sign that the rabbit was trying to kill me.
Speaking of the Easter Bunny, I have serious doubts that he or she is real. Now, is Santa Claus real? Yeah, maybe, because he’s a guy, a human being—but does a rabbit, actually a rodent, have the ability to travel all over the world and deliver candy? Not very likely and even if it’s true; would you want a rodent touching your jelly beans?
OK, rabbits aren’t really rodents, just trying to wake you up, but still a rabbit doesn’t have super powers like Santa and Santa doesn’t go hopping down the bunny trail. He’s more serious.
. . . and if I were you, I wouldn’t eat any raisins found in your Easter basket. It could be rabbit shit.
The last Easter egg hunt I went on was back when I was four or five years old. I was too little or perhaps too stupid to find any eggs. Adults had to help me locate them. Even at that young age, I decided never to put myself through that kind of hell again.
I could bring up my thoughts on Easter Sunday and religion, but I’ll keep it light today and will shut up and end this short essay on Easter Sunday. I know it’s lame, but it’s Easter Sunday. Be forgiving.
(Image found somewhere on the internet)