bulk :: 17st 4
cigarettes smoked :: 0
units of alcohol imbibed :: 12
runs run :: 1
swims swum :: 1
realistic vaginas purchased :: 0
sofas sacrificed to misguided altruism :: 0
chocolate eggs purchased :: 5
chocolate eggs eaten :: 0 (but there is still time)
tears wept for Christ :: 0
I don’t know about you, but I hate Easter. Or at least I used to, when I was a kid. It was never a time of chocolate-bingeing and egg-painting for me, as it apparently was for other kids. It was a time for recognising what dreadful unworthy sinners we all were, a time for rubbing my nose in the blood of Christ and generally feeling rotten about life.
My parents were fairly hard core Catholics. My mum had this weird habit of dabbing water on her eyes at Easter. It was to show how upset she was at the crucifixion of Christ. It used to drive me crazy. First, I never understood why she was so upset that Christ was crucified. It was my understanding that the whole point of Christ coming to Earth in the first place was so that he could be crucified and that if he hadn’t been crucified, then he would pretty much have failed in his mission to make us all feel guilty and miserable for evermore. Secondly, if she was upset enough to cry, then why didn’t she just cry? If I feel upset about something, I don’t sprinkle salty water on my cheeks. I cry. Similarly, if I need to void my bowels, I don’t dump a bag of stinking old meat in the loo. I void my bowels.
In my opinion, both of my parents were severely mentally ill, and their hard core Catholicism was just one aspect of that. Anyhow, as soon as I was brave enough to lapse – when I was 13 – I lapsed.
I’ve never really bothered with Easter since then.
This year however, I’ve bought masses of chocolate and Easter booze and I intend to celebrate like a proper hedonistic heathen. This Easter is all about earthly pleasures and absolutely nothing more. To hell with Jesus.
On with the mini eggs!