Eggs and stuff

What must they really think of us?

The deviled eggs, someone said. She can never pass up deviled eggs.

At 1 a.m. I was still stuffing dollar bills into eggs. Candy used to be good enough.

Folding chairs in the church. Cars stretched in a line like ants down that little country road.

I couldn”t find my dress shoes this morning. I said the Nicene Creed in my hiking boots.

Who first came up with the idea of plastic Easter grass?

I know I will have to deconstruct the vacuum next week and pull something out.

I didn”t wear a tie. My neck is much too plump. I cannot button the top button without turning mobile casino blood red.

Lent is over. Jesus is risen. Alleluia, alleluia.

What becomes of all those empty plastic eggs that litter the ground afterward?

We forgot to feed the rabbit today.Â He is thirsty as I type this.

I took pictures. We all look happy and well-groomed. Bickering not included as part of the historical record.

We ate, but brought nothing. Typical.

Easter, post-coitus. I lie naked in my bed.

Jesus is risen, but I am going to sleep.

Alleluia, alleluia. All the eggs have been accounted for.

I did not have my Cadbury egg this year.

Someone is singing downstairs.