You know something? I’m just like the dad from Dirty Dancing. When I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong. And guess what? The Easter Bunny really is a hare! I know – I was so shocked that I nearly choked to death on a miniature Lindt Chick when I found out, too. A hare. Apparently (by which I mean according to Wikipedia) it was, like, this Pagany-Olden-Daysies type hare, bouncing around the fields in the lukewarm April sunshine, representing spring and fecundity and fat women bleeding menstrual fluids into the soil and stuff like that.
Still, Easter’s a pretty rubbish holiday, isn’t it? It’s crap and nothing happens and then you hide a load of soggy, half-melted chocolate under a bush. Then you get to go home. It’s a load of shite.
I’ve got to admit something, though. Me and Rico had the best Easter ever, this year. My friend got us to go on a Schönes Wochenende ticket to Rostock and we had a whale of a time. We spent Saturday on the beach, it was bloody freezing, mind, I was really shivering in the icy wind, and Rico’s lips turned blue. It was so cold and windy; it felt like being back in England, only the beach wasn’t covered in old beer cans and tar.
The train on the way back was basically Hell on earth, though. I felt really German and disapproving and that. I kept on sniffing and thinking the word ‘Unmöglich!’ It was a total nightmare! There were all these pregnant women, grannies, disabled people just lying on the stairs like refugees who couldn’t find a seat. Luckily we couldn’t see them from our carriage or I would’ve felt dead guilty.
“Did you know Rico was going to be a boy?” My friend asked me, desperately trying to kill train journey time.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Oh, you wanted to know, did you?”
“No,” I said. “We wanted it to be a surprise but then that woman who does the ultrasound – I’m never sure if they’re doctors or nurses – well, that woman, she went: ‘Oh here you see, what it’s going to be. You can’t miss it!’ Like that.”
“And then you knew, huh, it’s gonna be a boy, if there’s something you can’t miss?”
“Well then I looked up and saw this huge porno dick on the ultrasound screen. It was massive. I think he had a hard-on.”
“Can unborn babies get hard-ons?”
“I dunno, you’d think if they could, the abortion lot would emphasize it a bit more. At three weeks, eyelashes, at seven weeks, eyebrows, at eight and a half weeks, a big giant hard-on.”
“Were you upset?”
“I was devastated. I cried for days.”
“Oh, Jacinta, you’re exaggerating!”
The thing is, I wish I was. But I did. Not days and days. But two. I felt ill like Sarah Palin when she found out about the bank bailouts, not just ill, but really really ILL. IRLL! I just felt like I’d been kind of tricked. My ex had put his dick into me and semen had seeped out and then grown into this other being which also had a penis. “I have a penis inside of me,”I kept on saying to myself, like a mantra, only a slightly disgusted, distraught one. And then I went into a toy shop and I looked at a mermaid Barbie and I burst into tears. I think it was a mermaid Barbie, but it might’ve been Ariel. But anyway, I just stood there, and cried.
Still, as I said earlier, when I’m wrong I say I’m wrong. I was wrong about the Easter Bunny and I was wrong to worry about having a boy. It’s brilliant. It’s fantastic. It’s wonderful. They even let you put glitter nail polish on them sometimes. No, that’s a joke! It’s great, having a boy. It’s a barrel of laughs. It’s all Özil and Star Wars and dinosaurs and kung fu and when they hug you, they really hug you. Their bodies go soft and floppy. I’m glad I had a boy in the end, I really am.
One time, when we were at the park, my friend’s little girl brought her this amazing bouquet of flowers – daisies and dandelions and little red ones and then these long blades of grass surrounding them. It literally looked like the kind of flowers you would totally consider buying for your granny, it was pretty fucking impressive.
“For you, Mama,” she said. “A present.”
Then Rico came up to me and gave me a bit of old brick.
“Look, Mum,” he said, grinning proudly. “Is it from the dinosaurs’ time?”
“Probably,” I said, and put it into my pocket. I threw it away before we got home, though. If I saved every single bit of rock or brick which he assumes to originate from the Jurassic era, I’d be able to rebuild the Berlin wall before next Easter.
Happy Easter, everybody!