Cold, cross bun

Happy Easter to ‘all’ (or should I say ‘both’?) of my followers (or should I say ‘readers’, in case people think I’ve got a Messiah complex?).

In spite of my unwavering dedication to the use of ‘bunny ear’ quotation marks (‘ ‘),I have to say that I am not a very happy Easter bunny. This may surprise you, but I have been pushed to the limits of my naturally Spring-like, sunny nature, as the other members of my household have trilaterally declared that they are too big for Easter eggs.

If anyone is too big for Easter eggs, it is me (about six dress-sizes too big). Yet, being the selfless mother that I am, I was prepared to sacrifice my waistline so that the ‘kiddies’ could enjoy their annual egg ‘hunt’ (does it qualify as a ‘hunt’ if you just hide the eggs behind the curtains like you have done for the last ten years?) I would have even helped them ‘choose’ which eggs to open first and shown them how to tackle them, leading by example.  But, no. I have raised a family of sugar-deniers (as in, ‘people who don’t believe in stuff’, rather than as in ‘7O denier supersoft opaque black with support panel’). So,  I am ‘enjoying’ a choc-free Easter.

I am trying to be gracious about it, but If one more tv presenter urges me not to eat all my eggs at once, I won’t be responsible for where I shove my basket. Also, if I am forced to admire another snap of a crocus as they tell us that  the weather’s going to be flaming freezing, again, I will snap someone or something’s cheery, brave head right off.

I can always plead diminished responsibility by reason of raging hypoglycemia.

Ho Hop Ho.

spring blues

 

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