I don't consider myself a religious person, but, somewhat shamefully, I have no problem celebrating the respective holidays or getting school vacations in order to do so. I proudly received a load of chocolate bunnies this past weekend in my personal celebration of Easter. Four, to be exact, if anyone (besides myself) is counting. Now that I'm on the subject of chocolate bunnies, I may as well tell you why I'm still getting them, being almost 16 years old. Like every child, my favorite part of Easter was the bunnies; and although I was never quite the believer in the "Easter Bunny"- I was the one who informed my older sister of the lack of such a creature at the age of 7 (not to mention Santa Claus), I fawned over those darned chocolate creatures in a box like, frankly, it wasn't going to be there tomorrow. I was a chubby child.
Unfortunately, I was constantly disappointed by the hollow bunnies; all of the chocolate fell into the inside of the bunny before I could bite off a piece. So this year, I was determined to find a solid bunny (the 3D kind, you know, not the kind that's flat on one side). I dragged my friends across Manhattan looking for this darn thing; I walked in and out of stores and picked up pieces of chocolate to feel if it was light (hollow) or satisfactorily heavy (solid). I even went into the Godiva store and suggested to the Chocolatier the creation of such a treat. Unfortunately I wasn't desperate enough to resort to ordering it on Amazon from a questionable company called "Olde Naples Chocolate," which for some reason I keep saying with a "Ye" in front of it.
My mom is an Angel. On Easter she ran excitedly from her bedroom carrying a bag filled with treats, and absolutely could not wipe the smile off of her face when I saw the solid, milk chocolate, one pound bunny all wrapped up and delicious. We named him Louis. He's disappearing by the day.
Although I don't usually spend Easter at my Grandma's house, she always bakes something good and tries to persuade us to abandon the other side of my family, rent a car, and drive to Staten Island and back on last minute. Instead of obliging, my mom and I made her favorite recipe for Easter bread, colored some eggs, and enjoyed the 90 degree weather (which I miss terribly, now that it's 60 and rainy, and I remember that it's not summer). The Weatherman must have known that I needed a week of some warm weather bliss.