It's 6:00 Easter morning and I hear this rustling and rustling; like crinkling cellophane. The crinkling continues, and with my back to the door, I am certain that damn little Papillon is nosing around in my trash, trying to find trinkets to adorn her dog bed with (once, it was a tampon. She presented it in front of company like it was a prize fish. A small part of me died that day.) and so I raise my head off the pillow and swing it around like a hellbeast and bark in a curt whisper, "GET OUT OF THERE!"
It was then that I, for the first time in my life, lock eyes with the Easter Bunny in action.
...and it's my mother, hunched over, eyes wide, pushing a basket covered in pink cellophane toward my bed. She is rightfully startled, but before I can say sorry and put my glasses on, she is backing out of the room making that "bawk bawk bawk" fake chicken noise that the Cadburry egg bunnies make. My door shuts, I take a blurry look down at the neatly wrapped presents in the basket, and fall back asleep for another two hours.
She later explained to me that, to lock in her position as a Bunny Rabbit, her first instinct was to squeal when I barked at her, but thought better of it at a moments notice. The chicken-bunny "bawking" through out the house today brought me cheer, I will say that.
I received a handful of travel sized toiletries, razors, shave cream, tanning lotion, twenty one-dollar bills each individually hidden in plastic eggs, ear plugs, and a very pink, glossy issue of Cosmopolitan magazine. Apparently, the Easter Bunny thinks I'm traveling somewhere and soon. That, and I might need a shave and a tan. And a visit to the strip club.
Thanks to Cosmo, I also know: "75 Sex Moves Men Crave" (75?? Really?), The Love Trick that Makes Him Want You More (I was hoping for a dark, witchy spell), Call Him or Text Him: The New Rules, and Look Sexy: makeup that flirts FOR you. What about introducing the kind of makeup that Has Sex for You? "Settle in, boy, and let my fabulous makeup do the work....."
Later, after a substantial afternoon of painting and listening to my monthly free audiobook from Audible--Stephen King's "Full dark, no stars"--I found myself eating Fruit Loops straight out of the box and staring out the kitchen window. As for what I was brooding on at that moment, I can't be too certain. (And you can bet I was brooding. I always brood on sundays.) I spent a long while ruminating on whether it was the window that was smudged or my glasses, because I had a feeling of looking through a Vaseline rubbed lens at the world.
Turns out, they were both dirty; my glasses, disgustingly so. For the amount of paint and glue that gets splattered on them, I should label them more as "working goggles" than anything else. Anyone who has seen me in my glasses knows that, if nothing else, they are big enough to accomplish any face shielding task.
I painted some more. Decided to skip through the part in the Stephen King story when the cat-sized rats invade, and downloaded two episodes from Nurse Jackie: Season 2. I know that iTunes is suffering. I know they need my money. You don't need to remind me anymore, God.
I walked into my bedroom, looked at my masterfully unorganized closet with the curiosity of someone who truly wants to be tidy, but finds that the rules read like a book in another language. I walked away from my bedroom.
Here I am. Waiting for Nurse Jackie, thinking about a shower and some pajamas. Thinking about wine. Thinking perhaps I should clean my glasses since it has been hours since I noticed their trashed state.