Easter Egg Funk

Now that I have a two-year-old, I have been hounded with questions about whether I’m taking my son to an Easter egg hunt.

(Full disclosure: No one has asked me this)

The short answer is no.

The long answer is F*** no.

I might have mentioned I once worked as a newspaper reporter. Thank you. Oh, wait you weren’t applauding. I thought maybe you were applauding.

I was a serious journalist, and that is why I covered the annual Easter egg hunt at the local park. I asked some tough questions like “Why are you here?” “Do you think you’ll find an egg?” and “Is there a bridge nearby? I’d like to jump off it.”

It begins all nice and egg-free. The kids appear human as do the parents.

But as soon as the air horn sounds, it quickly devolves into something resembling a Black Friday stampede for the cheapest electric egg cooker.

Eggvidence:

"Screw the conch, I want me some eggs!"

Parents, who have already staked a position by an easily visible egg, pounce upon it like a pack of jackals, spraying their urine and feces freely to ward off intruders.

Okay, maybe not that, but they yell really loud and basically push two-year-olds out of the way. Once their grubby snot-nosed child picks it up (always snot-nosed, always dripping, always the child I end up having to interview at the end of the 3-second bloodbath, always manages to get snot on me), they move onto the next egg, bawking orders like chickens if chickens could bawk orders, and just generally making the Easter Bunny weep hot tears.

There should be a limit to how many eggs one can grab (correct amount is 1) and how many times one can bellow “C’mon! C’mon! C’mon! Right here!!! Right here!!! Get it!!!!  GET IT!!!!!” (correct amount is never)

Even after reading this, you feel you must subject your offspring to an early taste of dashed hopes and despondency, please follow these tips:

  • Bring eggs with you. At the start of the hunt, put them in your child’s basket and say “Let’s go home.”
  • Watch or read something uplifting to restore your faith in humanity.
  • Enter a profession that will never make you cover an Easter egg hunt. One day you will find yourself writing sentences like these: “Thousands of children and parents packed the park. Many held plastic bags and baskets to load with eggs.”
  • Weep hot tears.
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28 comments

    1. Thank you Azure James. Since your name Azure means blue (I know how to look up words in the dictionary. Me smart), I figured you dig this because Easter eggs can be blue?

      1. hmmm…. I just thought it was interesting lol. I actually like red a bit more than blue because I wanna be different than my name maybe. Or maybe it just suits me better.

  1. Oh, my word! I used to RUN the egg hunts at my zoo, and it was my job (okay, maybe I just took it upon myself) was to threaten parents. I told them that they could be in the hunt area with their child only if they had both hands on the camera. If I saw them touch an egg, they were out. I take my egg hunts seriously.

    1. If I ever have to cover an Easter egg hunt again, I will a) weep copiously into my hands and b) call you to come facilitate it. Seriously, the parents were awful. Awful! I used an exclamation point. There were so many bewildered kids walking around with empty baskets, and awful parents crowing about how many their kids got. Horrifying.

      1. I read recently that some communities have quit offering hunts because the parents are so aggressive and do the hunting themselves. What is wrong with people? Please tell me!

      2. A strong desire for protein and Riboflavin?
        Or our society is done. I think there was some MIT study saying we’re done in 2030. The Easter egg hunt is the canary in the coal mine.

  2. When my son was small, the local grocery store did an egg hunt. Parents had to wait in the doorway to see what their children found. It was great, except for the fact that no alcohol was involved. For children or parent.

    But bringing your own eggs and then going home is brilliant. You can even hide them under that neon “Easter grass.”

    1. Alcohol is also essential to “covering” an Easter egg hunt. I did it THREE YEARS IN A ROW. It never got bored. No. Never. It. Was. An. Awesome. Experience. I’m. So. Happy. I. Spent. $40K. Getting. My. Master’s. For. This.

  3. Ugh. I hate parents. Except I’d be the parent who would be kicking eggs out of the way of my kid because I’m ill right now at the thought of a triple holiday candy extravaganza. (I.e. When your leftover Halloween candy mixes with your leftover Valentine’s Day candy which mixes with your Easter candy.) That, and I also like the idea of my children feeling completely inadequate at a few things in their life.

    So maybe if you lose your job, you can go back to this gig, huh? Sound fun.

    1. I just spent $50 on Easter basket candy. My son does not eat candy. I have serious problems.

      I could go back to newspaper reporting if newspapers actually still existed. My bureau is gone. One guy covers my county. It used to be five of us. I might be able to make some money being the fattest woman in the world once I eat the $50 in candy.

      1. Some newspapers still do exist in print. And I recently bemoaned the reporters. Is there no dignity? Is there not editor? The movie “Idiocracy” is a documentary filmed in the near future.

  4. Somehow I have lived for 55 years and been unscathed by the heartbreak and horror of this experience, despite being directly in the cross hairs of the targeted market, having been raised in a home that celebrated Easter. Yet I have never been a child at an Easter egg hunt or a parent of a child attending this unfortunate demonstration of poor parental behavior, resulting in bad lessons for children made confused and unhappy by it. How on earth have I been kept so blissfully ignorant of all this, and spared from it?
    That almost never happens!

  5. I’m setting up an Easter egg hunt for my 3 year old kid in my front lawn and garden. While she looks for eggs all morning, I’ll be sipping mimosas on the front porch and stealing chocolate from her basket. Happy Easter!

    1. I would like to write an article about your Easter Egg hunt next year if that is okay. Stop me after the third mimosa please, then I get a bit silly.

    1. Thanks sweetma. I’m imagining you are weeping over the brilliance found in those two sentences I actually wrote in an actual news article about an actual Easter Egg hunt. I spent….hmmm…..about four seconds coming up with both. And I was weeping.

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