I’m not a fan of Easter. If you ask me, the very premise seems flimsy. So, what–Jeebus celebrates his birthday on the same day every year, but the date of his death is a little fuzzy? Not convincing, even to a ten year old.
Then there’s the church service–which I no longer attend, but as a kid, it was pure torture: a long sermon endured in very dressy clothes, followed by an awkward formal dinner. My brothers and I were allegedly compensated for this discomfort by an abundance of candy treats, but since I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, and I care even less for chocolate, I always felt pretty cheated.
Then, a couple of weeks ago, Jonno and I met Sunday, who told us about Papas and the impossibly delectable chocolate Easter eggs they make. When she returned home, she sent a care package, sure that I would see things her way. Even if I continued to loathe Easter, I could enjoy the metaphorical fruits of the holiday.
Well, she was right. The eggs are very good. However, let’s check the photo and do some math:
- There are 24 servings in each box of eggs; and,
- there are 6 eggs per box; therefore,
- each egg represents 4 servings; and therefore,
- each egg contains 560 calories, not to mention 300 bejillion grams of sugar, fat, and other crap.
And on top of everything, one of the six eggs contains something called “Opera Cream”. Hello, I’m gay? How can I not eat that? How can I not lust for such evil, tasty, goopy goodness? And most importantly, how can I fit into a one-piece in just a few weeks?
That said, you gotta admit the bunny mascot’s totally hot.
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