I require a certain amount of chocolate to maintain my chipper self, and this Easter, I had not one little chocolate bunny. No matter. I took it upon myself to raid the supermarket the day after Easter when bunnies and pastel-colored everything are half off. The next morning, the local CVS was cleaned out, a few stray strands of grass remaining. The supermarket had exactly one chocolate bunny (in pieces) and leftover creme eggs. I trekked to a third place where I scored the last giant Hershey Kiss, which is supposed to be five servings but that I eat in two. OK, sometimes one.
Unsatisfied, I forged on. At Stop & Shop, I scored two Lindt bunnies in gold foil. Hmph. It wasn’t until the last drugstore, feeling defeated, that I hit the motherload: seven mammoth Kisses, a supersized bunny, and a Russell Stover bunny. I scooped them up (no, it wasn’t embarrassing; why do you ask?) and unloaded them at the register. The checkout woman smiled.
“I didn’t get one chocolate bunny for Easter,” I explained.
“They’re all for you?” she asked. Maybe she thought I was a teacher or a generous mother.
“They’ll last me a week,” I said.
She laughed. “But you’re so skinny!”
“I know! It’s great!” Usually I feel guilty about my superhuman metabolism, but I was very focused on the fact that I would now have a cupboard full of chocolate and needed to get it home fast so I could start nibbling the little ears and paws like a rabbit.