In all honesty, there was always something slightly more magical about the
Easter Bunny than Santa Claus. I'll admit that the idea of a rabbit going door-to-door giving out gift baskets seemed even more outrageous than a fat man squeezing down a chimney. A thick cloud of mystery surrounded E.B. even more than S.C.:
1) How
big was the bunny--
pet-sized or
human-sized?
2) Did the Easter Bunny
speak, or simply make
cute rabbit noises?
3)
Girl or boy bunny? The option was
open.
4) Could E.B.
disappear into thin air? (and subsequently
reappear)
5) Why did my cousins always get
video games in their Easter baskets?
 |
| Snug as a bug in a rug. Err, bun in an egg. |
These questions had no definite answers, but it didn't really matter. I envisioned the Easter Bunny as a 4-foot-tall, gender-ambiguous talking rabbit that could appear at will and had an infinite supply of chocolate items hidden under its ears (when you don't have a sleigh with reindeer, what else can you do?) who lived in a giant egg (far superior to Old Mother Hubbard, who lived in a shoe). That's my Easter Bunny, who exists deep in the back of my childhood memory pile, and I still enjoy the colorful quirkiness and total absurdity of it all.
Hoppy Easter, peeps.
