DEEP DARK SECRETS ON A SUNDAY

In 1992 I worked for the American Cancer Society here in Hoosierville.  I was in charge of fundraising, and this time of the year was always Daffodil Days.

One of the events that I planned was a booth at the mall to sell the daffodils, and I was lucky enough to time it so that our booth could open right next to the Easter Bunny garden.

So I went on the TeeVee and the radio and told everybody that was watching and listening to come to the mall on such and such a day at such and such a time to buy daffodils and to see the Easter Bunny in his garden.

On the morning of the event, I got all dressed up in my very best power suit, pantyhose, and pumps, and I headed out to the mall to sell daffodils.

The damn Easter Bunny was a no show.

So I did what any sane, rational, desperate fundraiser would do.  I took off my power suit and panty hose and pumps and climbed into the Easter Bunny costume.

Once the initial claustrophobia wore off, I took stock of my surroundings and decided to just get on with it.  As long as I didn't have to walk or stand or breathe or move, the costume was actually quite charming.  The suit itself was a full-on chubby bunny wearing plaid pants and a little vest, and the head of the bunny was the approximate size of a Buick and weighed almost as much.

The mall manager helped me shuffle/clomp to the Easter Bunny Garden and promptly installed me on the Easter Bunny throne that looked suspiciously like the Santa Claus throne from just a few short months before.

"All you have to do is lift the children onto your lap and wave at the camera", the mall manager said. "Remember, the Easter Bunny doesn't talk, so just nod and wave and you'll be fine."

I broke out into a sheer panic flop sweat.  In addition to feeling like I was headed for certain death due to the claustrophobia, I now realized that I was going to have to entertain little kids?!  And I was going to have to do this without being able to scream for help?  And the lifting!  How the hell was I supposed to lift these kids onto my lap while simultaneously balancing a small vehicle on my head that threatened to fall off and maim or kill anybody who just happened to be unlucky enough to be trapped under it?

In addition to the sweat, panic, terror, and muscle spasms, I also started to itch.  Something inside the bunny suit was causing me to feel like my skin was crawling.  I figured it was either an allergic reaction to all of the polyester used to make the bunny suit, or a colony of fire ants had hatched and were now doing their thing up and down my arms and legs.

Needless to say, the parade of squirming, screaming, peeing, babbling kids that made their way through the Easter Bunny Garden that year were subjected to language that no self-respecting holiday icon should ever utter.  If their parents would have heard what was flying out of my mouth, I'm pretty sure the lawsuits, protests, and subpoenas would have made the national news.

Easter has never been the same for me since.  I can't go anywhere near the seasonal display aisle in the Targets for fear that the bunnies therein will stage an uprising and I'll be left to explain why the little children of the world will wake up on Easter morning to empty baskets and lawns full of bunny poop.

I do, however, make up for it by buying and consuming at least eighteen pounds of assorted Easter candies until I am either lying on the bathroom floor praying for death or in the dentist's office praying for Novocaine.

So, Happy Easter, kids!  I'm going to head to the big girl sleigh bed until it's over.  I figure if I stay there long enough it will be time for the stores to put the Christmas decorations out, which should be sometime in April.

Have a good Sunday!