Easter Sunday

What better way to relax after a 2-hour church service in another language than to help run an Easter egg hunt in a park? The eggs to hide, the kids to yell at for taking eggs before the hunt begins, and not to mention the ominously long grass which is the perfect camouflage for little things like eggs, spiders and snakes.
Believe it or not, I actually did manage to enjoy my Easter Sunday - albeit only after donning a pair of cardboard rabbit ears. But such were the requirements for me to make my transformation into Donny the Evil Bunny of Retribution.
After my stint as chief keeper-outerer of children from the egg-hunting area, I vented my frustration on the same perpetrators who inflicted that frustration. The time for retribution had come.
And what better retribution than to frustrate those who had frustrated me? Each time they were tipped meant they had to surrender an egg they had collected. And the cruelest twist? The destruction of the eggs. That's right. No giving them back. No giving them to someone else. Those eggs were predestined for destruction since before the beginning of the game. OK, not for solely vindictive reasons. And it's not because I don't like chocolate. I just don't trust kids. A couple of times, I had to get the eggs from the kids mouths because they didn't think I'd do it. Ah, the joys of stubbornness.
My only regret is having to wait another year to help these kids understand the concept of retribution. Oh, and the running. Muahahahaha...