I like Easter. And it’s not just because of the chocolate.
I like the colours and the spring sunshine and the coming-togetherness. And mostly I like it because it marks a happy, happy milestone for me.
Easter Sunday, 2005, my sexy boyfriend had gone a few days earlier to meet a guy at the harbour, coming off a floatplane. There, he picked up a scraggly bubble-wrap lined yellow envelope containing a small black ring box. Oh, and there was also an invoice.
Then, while at my parents house, he had the talk with my dad. You know, the good old fashioned, ‘Can I pretty please marry your daughter and I’ll give her this (show the shiny object) and even if you say No we’re gonna do it anyway, but it would be way better if I have your blessing’ talk. It seems dad agreed.
So, Easter Sunday comes and hidden within a giant chocolate Easter egg, complete with glossy ribbon(!), what do I find? (How in the hell he got the ring box INSIDE the egg is a feat of engineering I cannot begin to wrap my brain around.) Then there was this sexy boyfriend, on bended knee and I nearly passed out. Perfection.
Happily Ever Easter.
P. S. I know Easter means oh so much more, too. I’m not a dum-dum.
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