My Relationship with Easter Eggs

For someone whose second love in life is chocolate, Easter is a glorious time of the year. At no other time of the year do random strangers offer shiny bits of foil-wrapped chocolate to me, nor is there a chance to stack up my trolley with kilos of it and walk up to the cash register without someone commenting.

At Easter, chocolate flows freely down the streets in bright, shiny packaging, and all that’s missing are a couple of short, bright orange-coloured men with green hair for a real-life Willy Wonka factory.

Yet, as a person who has no children close enough to buy a toothy, smiling rabbit for, except for a nephew who lives overseas and isn’t even old enough to have teeth, I feel myself a little left out of this commercialised yet fun festival Easter has become. I walk past the supermarket displays, all bright and shimmering, and I want to buy an egg. I want to pop a couple of those things in my basket, and when I find a moment to myself, gently peel back the foil, slowly so as not to break the wrapping, and turn the smooth, rounded surface of the egg over to find a suitable point from which to take my first bite from.

But I turn away as feelings of self-indulgence, childishness and downright silliness set in. I don’t need an Easter egg. I’m an adult. I have better things to spend my money on.

And then the post-Easter sales set in. Like giant inflatable Santas on Boxing Day, Easter eggs also have a seasonal use-by date. The 50 per cent off sticker slapped onto boxes of giant milk chocolate eggs, some covered in roasted almonds, others filled with ginger or turkish delight or rocky road, calls me.

It’s the last straw. I crack. I buy an egg. Sure, it’s commercialised and it has nothing to do with why we celebrate Easter in the first place, but it’s fun to eat an Easter egg. They’re like edible presents – a brightly-packaged, odd shape designed to be torn open and enjoyed, except at least they’re easier to open. Besides, let’s face it, life isn’t meant to be taken seriously, and if I want to buy an Easter egg for myself, then damn straight I’m going to. And I’m going to enjoy every bit of it.

And hey, at least I got it half-price.

By Annette Lin