When Halloween meets Easter (in a dark alley, of course)

My son was upset that his Easter basket didn't include a chocolate
bunny. I told him--and it was true--that I couldn't really handle the bunny thing this year. He didn't believe me, and kept sandpapering me about
the TRADITION (insert heavy sigh) and the HORROR (insert dramatic head toss) of NOT getting a chocolate bunny for the first time EVER (insert big drama).

Fine.

We had to go to Walgreens for batteries anyhow, so I found two four-inch
cruddy, mass-market chocolate bunnies and three of those tiny little things
that come in the foil packages. Bought 'em all.

Jumped back into the car, opened the bag, hauled out the "Daddy" bunny and introduced him as Russell. Russell then introduced the other larger bunny as his wife Stover. Then he introduced his three children, Little Crispers, Fudgie Wudgie and Coco. All the bunnies said something about how they'd been trained and they knew they were going to The Killing. Russell and Stover cautioned their children to be obedient and not to cry out.

Suddenly Stover burst into tears. Russell couldn't handle her emotional outburst, so he asked if he could please be eaten first. Said he couldn't bear to watch his wife and children "go to The Killing."

My son rolled his eyes and told me how ridiculous the whole thing was. Said
it was their destiny to be eaten, much as it's the destiny of all large pumpkins to turn into jack o'lanterns one day.

So he opened the foil wrapping on Little Crispers and asked if he should eat
the ears first. I said "The FIRST thing you should do is administer some anesthesia." He rolled his eyes again, mentioned the destiny thing, and went CHOMP, CHOMP.

As soon as he bit into Little Crispers, a HORRIFYING howl pierced the air. "Owwww!!!!" cried Little Crispers. "Momma! Momma! I didn't know The Killing would hurt this much."

Stover sobbed harder.

He ate half of Little Crispers and said he couldn't take any more. I said fine, do whatever you have to do. But either finish him off or feed him to me--DON'T let the poor little guy crawl off into the bushes and die all day.

He ate the rest of Little Crispers.

We arrived home.

I stood Russell, Stover, Fudgie Wudgie and Coco up on my still-decorated table, placed Little Crispers' foil wrapper in front of them, lit a votive candle and wrote a sign reading "Little Crispers. Born: Christmas Day, 2008. Died: Easter Day, 2009. We will always love you and miss you, Little Crispers. Your heartbroken family."

Son came strolling out, looked at the memorial display on the table, and said "You are SOOOO going to hell. I can't eat those chocolate bunnies."

Russell and Stover were overheard plotting their escape to a nearby mountain town. The two surviving children headed for the Huntington Beach wetlands, where their descendants dwell to this day, warning bunnies and other small, ground-dwelling rodents to beware of Easter and watch out for The Killing.

Fiction? The ramblings of an overcaffeinated mind? Could be. But all I know is that when we went to bed on Easter night, there were chocolate bunnies on the table. The next morning, they were gone.

And I think my chocolate bunny problem might be over forever.