Here comes Peter Cottontail…

For most kids, Halloween is the holiday that they associate with candy and being scared out of their pants. For me, it’s Easter. Yesterday, I told you about my grandparent’s house in the middle of the woods.

Today’s story occurs there too.

Now this trauma is not actually that traumatizing anymore. Because I don’t actually remember it. This occurred many many Easters ago, in which I was either 2.5 years old. So this is a retelling of the retelling.

It’s hard to understand the story when it’s retold to me sometimes because everyone is laughing.

At my younger self’s emotional distress.

Something’s not right with that.

Dying Easter eggs is a tradition for many kids. And I too, was up for the challenge. In our house, it always occurs at night, quite often one of the last things to do before bed.

So there I am, younger, cuter, blonder me, dying my Easter eggs for the Easter Bunny to hide. My parents, grandparents and aunt are all there. Until someone gets the brilliant idea of having the Easter Bunny hop by the window.

So they send my aunt out into the night, with a pair of bunny ears to hop infront of the kitchen window, the one above the sink.

I like any sane kid freak out. I did not find it cute, funny, adorable or amusing like other family members did.

Suddenly the Easter Bunny became one of my most feared things, right after E.T. And much like E.T., the Easter Bunny (or at least the kind that you get your picture taken with at the mall, even though that is not even close to what my aunt had that night) creeps me out, just a little. It’s a touch of PTSD.

Oh, that same aunt, the one that thought she was real funny that night? Is also the one that just a few years later manged to pull my elbow out of the socket while playing a game of choo-choo train. It’s a wonder I tolerate her anymore.

And lest you think Easter was entirely traumatic for me, I have some really great memories. Mainly of dominating the heck out of family Easter egg hunts because I am the oldest. And of pretty dresses and new shiny shoes (which I’m still a sucker for).  In fact, it was a book given to my by my enemy, the Easter Bunny, that we all discovered I could read and I never looked back. So it wasn’t all terrible.

As long as you leave the bunny and alien out of it.

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