Perhaps the only person living, dead, or resurrected who might come close to understanding my Easter time trauma is the Sweet Lord Jesus Himself. The rest of you simply take great pleasure and joy in revisiting the terrifying Easter Bunny photo shoot of me just about wetting my pants in fear of that woefully-underestimated sadist. I’ll include that favored photo below, but we open with a bit of comeuppance – a karmic twist that finds the bunny sitting on my lap now, and I’ve got no time for tulle.
This reckoning has been a long time coming. Largely worked-out with this unexpected run-in with the furry guy himself in Boston over ten years ago, I did a few more exercises in exorcism in the ensuing decade. There was the time the twins acted as my bunny-buffer during a visit at Faddegon’s. This pair of Burberry briefs and a string of pearls went another step toward turning the bunny narrative on its cottontail.
The most startling battle with the bunny of my mind began with this trip down the rabbit hole. It was during that Delusional Grandeur Tour when the remaining animal demons in my head wreaked their final havoc. Today, the same bunny from that shoot gets a softer go-round on my lap. After all, it’s Easter.
Happy Easter to one and all – especially that mischievous bunny in each of us.
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