So, when did Easter become such a big deal? Maybe I’m missing something, but I don’t recall it being such an all-encompassing, homeward bound event.
I spent Easter Sunday mostly cleaning. Cleaned like a mother-effer. Cleaned for five hours. Scrubbed the floors, cleaned the bathroom, vacuumed every nook and cranny of the place, emptied and dusted shelves and their clutter, even polished up some dirty action figures (and I don’t mean this).
Actually, a half hour of that time was spent fixing my toilet seat, a feat of which I am far too proud. The awkward hardware that came with my clear blue Ikea toilet seat never worked quite right, the seat would slip around on the bowl, which can be a disconcerting event (especially for the guys, with them goodies down there waiting to be crushed and all). I removed the ridiculously long securing bolts and replaced them with a shorter screw, which threaded into the butterfly nut much more securely. I added a second washer and discarded the superfluous second plastic bracket. That seat ain’t going nowhere! I almost felt like a man. But then I went back to dusting.
Part of the reason was that I had some people over for an egg hunt. I hid 25 candy eggs (Cadbury, Snickers, Baby Ruth, Butterfinger) around my apartment, stocked the hooch, cut some veggies and cheese and picked out some springtime party music. I even got to use my new party lights strung around my fire escape (ah, the longing for a back yard).
It was a small gathering, and kind of a last minute event. Most people I know had Easter plans. I never have Easter plans. Easter has always been a non-holiday for me, at least since I stopped searching for baskets on Urban Drive. In fact, the picket fence purity of the holiday, the uniformity of its rituals, the fact that it’s far harder to separate it from its religious connotations (as opposed to Xmas, which is open to reinterpretation... well, I think so, anyway).... kinda freak me out. The perky families in their pastel finery with their flowers and bunnies, visiting Grandma and eating ham.... I have no kids, nor any pastel finery. I prefer dead flowers, don’t really like chocolate bunnies (hollow rip-offs, they), and all my grandparents are long dead. I just can’t relate.
I do like ham, though. Maybe next year I’ll just sit around and eat pork products all day. And Cadbury eggs. They’ve got a gooey center.