Here Comes Peter Cottontail…
Hugh, the kids, and I are headed for Mayberry for the Easter weekend. Barbie and my nephew are already there and I am looking forward to spending time with them almost as much as I am looking forward to drinking Diet Pepsi and eating my own weight in chocolate.
Speaking of which, the Teenager asked me how we always managed to get the Easter baskets, Christmas gifts, etc. to grandma’s house when we visited for the holidays and she was genuinely shocked when I told her that we put everything into black trash bags and threw them in the back of the car; she had never noticed the bags.
She noticed them this time, of course but; is going to make a concerted effort to ignore them for the sake of her brother, the true believer.
She’s going to make an excellent Easter Bunny one day (years and years and years from now).
On a totally different subject, Hugh finally finished our taxes last night. Every year he cuts it closer and closer to the deadline; I think he’s trying to see how far he can push me before I go completely mental and, the answer is, not too much further goddamnit.
On the bright side, we should be getting money back so; I will be able to afford a good therapist.
For the record, I’m thinking massage therapist.