Monday, April 17, 2006
If life is like a box of chocolates, then I'm ready for a Cadbury Crème Egg
I celebrate Easter like many eh-Catholics: I give up giving things up for Lent and think about the greatest Easter gift—the Cadbury Crème Egg.
What is an eh-Catholic, you might ask? Someone who knows what they’re supposed to do, think about, say at mass, do to go to heaven; and says “eh.” Sure, I live a good life, but my life only intersects with St. Martin’s Catholic Church to appease my Grandma.
So, for the girl who loves celebration and holiday cheer, what joy can possibly come from the holiday of death and rising? A rooftop celebration, complete with Easter egg races and naptime. But what do I do about the candy? How do I make sure to have all the Peeps and Robin’s Eggs and Jelly Bellys when all I really want is a Cadbury Egg?
Searching high and low, from CVS to Safeway, for a Cadbury Egg was the greatest letdown of all. Like searching for that special someone, that person who sweetens your day, brightens your smile and completes your holiday festivities, and only finding syrupy chickens and weak little beans may be why I’ve stopped looking for the perfect man. Aren’t I entitled to the perfect Easter treat, though?
Cadbury makes a prime example of perfection in their sweet little egg: just the perfect amount of chocolate—a strong exterior that inspires confidence and trust. Then, once you delve just below the surface (perhaps a few dates in) you find a sweet, sensitive interior. Like a sweet boy actually calling when he says he will, the Cadbury Egg’s interior is the pleasant surprise we know we deserve.
This Easter, however, just like there seems to be a shortage of sweet men, there’s a deficit of Cadbury Eggs. I went on what seemed like hundreds of first dates between all of those corner CVSs (probably across the street from another CVS and around the corner from a Cosi). Everywhere I turned, however, I seemed to find another Peep or hollow chocolate bunny. This Easter, in the face of empty-calorie candy and men, I’m tempted to ask myself why. Why keep searching for the illusive Cadbury Egg in DC. And of course, in the city that forgot the date, why keep looking for a nice boy?
Just as my confidence in the illusive man begins to wane, there it was, passed over the proverbial cubical wall: a Cadbury Crème Egg. It tasted as sweet as I remembered. The sugar rush to my brain was like the joy of new love. So amazing I didn’t mind when my blood sugar sunk back down, the egg was everything I had hoped for. I may not be compelled to church or sunrise, but I am compelled to indulge in the sweet taste of the season. Does this mean that true love will soon follow? Probably not, but at least I found one good egg. A Cadbury Egg.
What is an eh-Catholic, you might ask? Someone who knows what they’re supposed to do, think about, say at mass, do to go to heaven; and says “eh.” Sure, I live a good life, but my life only intersects with St. Martin’s Catholic Church to appease my Grandma.
So, for the girl who loves celebration and holiday cheer, what joy can possibly come from the holiday of death and rising? A rooftop celebration, complete with Easter egg races and naptime. But what do I do about the candy? How do I make sure to have all the Peeps and Robin’s Eggs and Jelly Bellys when all I really want is a Cadbury Egg?
Searching high and low, from CVS to Safeway, for a Cadbury Egg was the greatest letdown of all. Like searching for that special someone, that person who sweetens your day, brightens your smile and completes your holiday festivities, and only finding syrupy chickens and weak little beans may be why I’ve stopped looking for the perfect man. Aren’t I entitled to the perfect Easter treat, though?
Cadbury makes a prime example of perfection in their sweet little egg: just the perfect amount of chocolate—a strong exterior that inspires confidence and trust. Then, once you delve just below the surface (perhaps a few dates in) you find a sweet, sensitive interior. Like a sweet boy actually calling when he says he will, the Cadbury Egg’s interior is the pleasant surprise we know we deserve.
This Easter, however, just like there seems to be a shortage of sweet men, there’s a deficit of Cadbury Eggs. I went on what seemed like hundreds of first dates between all of those corner CVSs (probably across the street from another CVS and around the corner from a Cosi). Everywhere I turned, however, I seemed to find another Peep or hollow chocolate bunny. This Easter, in the face of empty-calorie candy and men, I’m tempted to ask myself why. Why keep searching for the illusive Cadbury Egg in DC. And of course, in the city that forgot the date, why keep looking for a nice boy?
Just as my confidence in the illusive man begins to wane, there it was, passed over the proverbial cubical wall: a Cadbury Crème Egg. It tasted as sweet as I remembered. The sugar rush to my brain was like the joy of new love. So amazing I didn’t mind when my blood sugar sunk back down, the egg was everything I had hoped for. I may not be compelled to church or sunrise, but I am compelled to indulge in the sweet taste of the season. Does this mean that true love will soon follow? Probably not, but at least I found one good egg. A Cadbury Egg.
