I have an absolutely ginormous family. I mean, I personally am an only child, but my mom is one of seven lunatics and those seven lunatics have given birth to a pack of hooligans ranging in age from 40ish to 5. My aunts, uncles and first cousins alone bring the head count to about 30 and this is not counting my cousins’ children, their spouses or the countless other stragglers who are silly enough to try to brave a family gathering. In short, when we all get together it is deafeningly loud, immensely scary and slightly dysfunctional.
Now, next week I will be venturing home for Easter and one of these harrowing experiences. Traditionally on Easter, most of my family will bail on church and instead stand around my aunt’s backyard arguing over whose cheating in the egg hunt is the most egregious and whose offspring benefits most from said cheating. This has been going on every Easter for my entire life. Note that I did not mention anyone dressing up as a bunny, so you might understand my surprise when I received the following email at work today…
Subject: EASTER EGG HUNT!!!!
Do you have bunny ears? I was thinking that you and Jamal could be the bunny helpers and hop around the yard hiding the eggs. Hopefully we will have nice weather.
Well, I just about peed my pants imagining that sight. Briefly, Jamal is five years younger than I am and highly ridiculous. Ten years ago he often wore chains with assorted ferocious animal medallions. These days he settles for wearing fitted hats that match whatever random, ironic t-shirt he happens to be sporting that day and generally looking “fresh to death.” He also likes to talk at length about get rich quick schemes and “dime pieces.” A character to say the least. So, now picture that hoodrat wearing a pair of pink bunny ears and trying to hop about without dirtying up his Air Force Ones. Ok good, now juxtapose that image with me in head to toe J. Crew, probably a poofy headband and either my rain boots or if it is nice, plaid boat shoes. Add in a black Pomeranian, a giant pit bull, one six year old and one five year old who thinks he is a dinosaur all running in circles around my ankles trying to get their paws on the eggs. Chaos, for realsies.
Now I have no idea whether or not my aunt is kidding. I mean, she very well could be because let’s be real, here, that just sounds like a recipe for someone to get bit in the face by one of the dogs. Frankly, that victim can’t be me. I already spend at least an hour each day trying to decide if I have a deviated septum so my health insurance will have to pay for my eventual nose job, I can’t spare any more time thinking about how to deal with dog bite scars. On the other hand, not quite thinking things through sort of runs in my family. I know all about what happens when something seems like a good idea. One minute you’re thinking you can just wedge a screwdriver into your car window, pry it open, pop the lock and grab your keyes then before you even have time to realize this is the worst idea ever you are covered in glass. This whole bunny thing could kind of be like that, but with more facial bleeding.
Suffice it to say, I have concerns. However, if need be I will don my bunny ears and hide all 300 eggs in Utan’s garden. I mean if I had any dignity left to speak of I might think twice about it, but let’s face it jack assing around my aunt’s yard is probably the least embarrassing thing I’ve done in quite a while.