This year, the Easter Bunny was threatened. “Give me chocolate, and I’ll eat you for dinner, you freakishly large rabbit.” He did not give me chocolate. Instead, he gave me a blackberry bush and 2 rose bushes. It’s been a thorny year.
The Easter Bunny is a wimp at heart. Well, he’s a rabbit, so I suppose it’s hereditary. He hides eggs, for Pete’s sake. Eggs? My children died 20 eggs this year, and have eaten exactly none of them. Okay, they’ve eaten 2 of them, deviled, and were pleased, I’m sure, to discover they each had another one for lunch. Wanna know how many we still have in the fridge? A friend takes her kids to a big hill and they all chuck their eggs down the hill. Sounds a bit Canadian Hillbilly to me, not to mention vaguely vandal-like, but at lest they don’t sit in her fridge and mock her. “Hey, so much for your environmentalism. Do you know how much waste is produced so you can buy your $1/dozen Grade A Large Eggs? And here we sit, rotting, just like that swiss chard you swore you’d do something with.”
My fridge is full. It must be time to get rid of the moldy things. Not only the swiss chard, but the mysterious items in Glad plastic bins. Hal has been making a good dent in the extra chocolate buttercream frosting I told him I would totally use if he made, and which I haven’t even looked at since, but it’s frosting. It’ll keep for months. I really need him to start taking spoons of the sauteed carrots and leftover roasted potatoes. How come he never sneaks bites of those? And why do I never catch him sticking his fingers in the almost-wilted spinach? I need KH to make me some spanikopita. Or I need to get over my hatred of working with puff pastry and do it myself.
We have rhubarb going blazes in the front yard. It’s pretty. It’s also only good with about 7,000 tons of sugar and a few strawberries doesn’t hurt, either.
I wonder if rhubarb and wilted spinach would taste good with buttercream frosting?