There’s only a week to go before I have to turn into an Easter Bunny and already the pressure is getting to me, making me wish I’d never started this caper. Every holiday it’s the same. I always have to make out I’m something else just to please the children. Honestly, I shall be glad when they’re grown up and past all this silliness.
As you can tell, silliness is my word. The kids don’t think it odd seeing their father dress up in weird outfits. Mind you I quite enjoyed being a scary dude at Halloween, I look quite good in black and the pointed hat suited me. I did argue against being a witch, but the wife hadn’t got a wizards outfit. Wouldn’t you think, in this day and age, she could have knocked one up in the weeks prior to the big day? I mean she does have twelve months to think about it. I went along with it for the sake of peace, but I have to say I really scared the children. I don’t think they’ll laugh quite so loudly next time.
Dressing up started with the wife’s harebrained idea that I’d make a good Santa. It’s not as if I’m fat; fat-headed, maybe, but my figure is quite slim and lithe and the hair is a definite mix of auburn and brown. However, it’s amazing what a bit of padding can do and the wig did wonders for my appearance. I know it sounds conceited but I was so good the wife begged me to try another one, another time. She said it was better than bedtime stories. Not to my mind, though, my idea of a bedtime story is something else.
I didn’t mind too much when I was asked to be the tooth fairy, I mean the kids were asleep so I didn’t have to dress up, but now their mother has come up with the idea of an Easter Bunny. I ask you, what the hell does an Easter Bunny do other than deliver eggs? Perhaps he goes round handing out tissues for when his head gets bitten off.
The other day I stated a preference to go as a white rabbit so I wouldn’t be confused with a bunny that provides Easter snacks of a tooth-rotting, fat-building nature. Not that the wife listens to me. She goes her own sweet way, thinking more of what the girls would like than her old man.
I’m very sensitive deep down. I don’t mind people laughing at me providing it’s not done in a nasty way. But dressing up as a realistic brown bunny, carrying a housewife-style basket filled with colourfully wrapped chocolate eggs will just make my brood want more and if I’m in a brown outfit they just might get the idea they can eat my ears or something. That’s why I’m demanding to go as a white rabbit.
Two days to go!
Is this the stuff dreams are made of? Do you ever get the feeling you are only here for amusement purposes?
Have you ever resorted to sneaking a peak when the law has been laid down that you should KEEP OUT of the sewing room? They say nosy-parkers don’t hear good of themselves but I can tell you that secret watchers don’t have it too good either. Yes, I sneaked into the sewing room while the wife was watching her favourite soap, and now I don’t know what to do.
What did I see? A brown bunny outfit, that’s what. Not ordinary brown, either, but chocolate brown. With ears! After all I said about wanting to be a white rabbit! Does she ever listen? Does she, hell!
Can you imagine how I’m feeling? Is it too much to expect my wishes to be carried out? Or obeyed like in the marriage vows? Isn’t it enough that I dress up to order without being humiliated in the process? I feel the odd one out in this family and all because of a half-baked idea that the only man in the house should dress up.
One more day!
The outfit was tried on and alterations carried out while the girls were away watching an Easter play with their grandparents. According to reports the main character was a rabbit. I feared for my sanity when I knew they were going but it was too late to go into an over-worrying state. I just had to grin and bear it.
The wife, bless her, had organised what she called an Easter egg party. It was to take place in the afternoon. However, the only things that made it look like Easter were the Easter cards and some decorations ... painted eggs, paper eggs, and eggs with faces. I was to be the main attraction. Under normal circumstances I would have fitted the role perfectly, but not dressed as a flippin’ rabbit.
The room was quiet when I walked in, resplendent in brown and laden with eggs in baskets, three on each arm. Hallelujah, you should have heard the cheers when the girls saw me ... er ... the rabbit. They rushed over, removed the baskets, and threw their arms around me. ‘Ooooh,’ cried the oldest. ‘A real Easter Bunny and so much NICER than that white one in the play.’
I still feel choked at my selfishness. Next year I’m going to dress up as an egg.... can you imagine that? The wife has wonderful ideas, don’t you think?
Oh, I forgot to say ... some bedtime stories come true!