|Easter chocolate: so good your mother will steal it. |
(at least mine did)
This weekend was Easter, and so I braved the traffic and the less than Spring-like weather to head out to my parents' place for some family time.
As you might recall from previous ramblings, my Dad has been cursed by the culinary gods, and after years of producing perfectly cooked turkeys, this past decade has been one bird related debacle after another in a string of events most commonly referred to as turkcastrophes. (you can read a summation here if you're in need of a laugh.) Needless to say, my mother issued the edict that there would be no turkey for Easter. We would have ham instead.
As I entered the house, I was greeted by my two, fuzzy, four footed siblings,Hari and Stitch, and the distinctive odor of overcooked meat. Yep, you guessed it, the ham had followed in the footsteps of so many turkeys before it and succumbed to the Hayes family culinary curse.
|Not the actual ham. Mum would have killed me if I tried to take a picture of ours.|
Once we salvaged the ham, the rest of the visit went wonderfully, with plenty of laughter and teasing. We even had a visit from the Easter Bunny (or at the very least one of his cousins) when an adorable, long-eared guest arrived on the patio to check out my parents' garden.
After lunch, we sat back to enjoy a bit of Easter candy, and that is when I learned a terrible lesson. You can't trust anyone when it comes to chocolate, not even the woman who raised you. I had about a third of my tasty chocolate bunny left when my mother casually suggested I check on the status of my laundry. (Yes, I take home laundry when I visit...don't judge me.) I waved it off and said I would in a minute. I should have really clued in when she prompted me to do it right at that moment.
Years of training kicked in and I went to do what my Mum had told me to do. And that is when her evil plan became evident. I happened to glance back over my shoulder to say something, and caught her breaking off a chunk of chocolate from my bunny! Thievery! Did my Dad alert me to this? Oh, no, of course not. Having caught her in the act, did my loving parents apologize? Ha! The thief devoured her ill gotten gains without a hint of remorse and told me to get going to the laundry room.
I took two steps, checked again and she had my bunny back in her hand! By the time I had the dryer on, my poor rabbit had been ravaged, and there was nothing left to do but to put the thing out of it's delicious misery. I may need therapy to get over this betrayal.
Then again, they did send me home with leftovers...so maybe we're even.
PS. Mum. I warned you that if you took that last bite, it was going in a blog, and you taught me to never make a threat I wasn't willing to go through with. ~ love you. S.