Easter Egg Cunt...

I am an idiot. A well-meaning and kind idiot, but a silly-arse all the same. Today is of course Easter Sunday and as ever, I decided to create an Easter egg hunt for my now 9-year old daughter. She doesn’t seem to have grown out of this yet, so I wonder how long this is to go on for. Rather like the thoughts I had when I bought her a toy for Easter when she was about 3; ‘My First Barbecue Play-set’, which at the time left me wondering just how many more ‘Barbecue Play-sets’ I was going to be expected to buy throughout her childhood if this was merely the first? Plastic sausages held together with Velcro aside, I’m more than happy to continue with this and indeed any ritual until she says otherwise. The same thing is still going on with Father Christmas. I’m sure she’s realised now that I’m the only person that doesn’t seem to give her presents for Christmas. I’m sure she knows, despite the lengths I’ve gone to in the past to convince her of Santa being real. It seems now though that she doesn’t want to upset/offend me by saying she knows he exists as much as the musical content of The Harlem Shake exists, but then I don’t want to say anything about it all being a big old fib in case she does still believe. I miss the care-fee innocence of childhood so I want her to keep hers for as long as possible and so the deceit continues. Back to my idiocy though… I bought (not brought) and subsequently hid a number of crème egg sized eggs (including crème eggs) around our child-unfriendly, shit-tip of a garden. My daughter was then meant to find them all and she would end up with a ripe old selection of chocolate spores of every type, from caramel to Kinder. Only that isn’t quite what happened. Instead of a basketful she ended up with an egg-cup-full, because dickhead here hid them too well didn’t he. Not only that, I also forgot to make a note of where I had oh-so-cunningly hidden them. Which was handy… Good luck to whoever/whatever finds them. I hope at least that if it’s the pigeons, they might at least then spend more of their time constructing whatever crap is in the missing Kinder eggs and less time dumping their own crap all over my daughter’s swing.

So, a word to the wise then; Hide well thy eggs, but like all good pirates, make ye a map…