Dear Easter Bunny, please accept our sincere apology for banishing you to the land of creepy holiday creatures where you will reign supreme I am sure.
You were slayed when 9-year-old Mr. Monk declared that he no longer believes in Easter Bunny.
Rejoice!
The Husband took the boys to Wal-Mart last night because I had failed to procure pastel things to appease the Easter Bunny. This man loves a great bargain and is not afraid of those greeters; he falls square in Wal-Mart’s target segment. While there, Mr. Monk made the surprise announcement. Now that there’s no need to keep up the charade, they came home with a bow and arrow set, a Captain America shield and two water pistols, and created the bestest Easter baskets at the fastest speed in the history of this household.
The boys had given up soda pop for Lent hence the giant bottles of soda in the baskets. Mr. Monk took one long sip of his orange soda and declared, “This is the BEST Easter ever!”
Deprivation is the mother of poetry joy.
