The Easter Bunny… With a wicker basket… In the fireplace room. Sounds like I’m about to tell you a story about a murderous game of Clue or something, doesn’t it?
Every year during spring, on an early Sunday morning, a mother and her two daughters huddle in pajamas, cross-legged on beige carpet. They crouch around a large lavender basket, filled with neon green grass and bits of pastel food. From a distance, it seems they sit calmly, quietly chewing. But, unexpectedly, they ferociously rip the heads off innocent bunnies and chicks. Gleams of hunger in their eyes crave the sugar the animals offer. The group is not performing a sacrifice, but ravenously munching for survival. Nope, this isn’t The Hunger Games, but good guess.
It’s Easter, of course! Mom, Shannon, and I are most clearly celebrating the resurrection of the Catholic church’s savior! (or however the story goes; I never paid much attention at church CCD as a kid). But before you mail me a bible or start to dial PETA, check with the animal abuse hotline on how to classify the harming and consumption of corn syrup animals of artificial color and flavor.
One particular story-telling Springfield College professor shared his Peep sandwich technique: two slices of white bread smeared with peanut butter, four up-right peeps smushed inside and microwaved on high. Apparently, he can enjoyably eat more than one Peep sandwich in a sitting, but personally, I’m gagging (not a peanut butter fan).
Others play Peep-jousting in the microwave, seeing which pastel sugar warrior explodes mallow goo all over the inside of the appliance first. I’ve seen Peep s’mores, Peep sushi (Rice Krispie treats), Peep cookies, Peep pizza, Peep-kebabs, and the list goes on. I remember one story of Uncle Johnny who didn’t like the outside, or only liked the outside, or something like that. Either way, Peeple are funny about their Peeps, see what I did there? ;-) I like to take the low-maintenance approach and wait til the chicks get stale and almost crunchy… Happy Peepin’!