Well, it's Easter Sunday today, you know. The Costa Rican poks celebrate the rebirth of St. Cheezus or whatever it is very intensely, if very peculiarly (for instance, they reverse the highwayi ; but there's not much candy at the store, and virtually none Easter-specificii) and... well... Hannah made Nicole an Easter egg hunt.
It involved no less than thirteen (wink wink fudge fudge) hardboiled (and quite beautifully handpainted) eggs not to mention a different dozen plastic egg shapes containing clues (and small gifts, including an ancient candy of some sort that exploded inside its wrappings -- without, however, overflowing its toppings) not to mention a bunch of (rather ostrich sized) marzipan eggs in chocolate -- handmade, by which I mean the whole thing, she buys toasted almonds and makes marzipan. Why the hell not ? Doesn't yours ?
Anyway, so I look around and there's this naked bitch on twelve inch pleasers wearing a pink bunny tail around her neck like a sort of bimbo bowtie, and pink-with-darker-pink bunny ears on her head (one ear bent low midway, all sultry like) bending over to look under whatever the hell for her eggs. All the plushies (and good god there's dozens, and they all have names and backstories and, properly speaking, more of a life -- social, or otherwise -- than you with your instagram &tc) are gathered in congress discussing whatever things and matters of plushie import & consequence. Her hair's died pink, I'm having pasca which is a kind of incomprehensibly traditional cheesecake (for St. Cheezus' fuckedhismomday -- or whatever it was) -- homemade, of course -- and sipping bonbon coffee (which I wont explain, for any hope of ever finishing this endless explanatory tree full & replete of explanations) and...
I don't know, I mean there's a blue octopus hat (literally) and you can see clear across the valley, the air's so clean, the sky so bright and clear. There's a baby vanilla growing in a pot this side of a pane of glass, a little clay monkey-kangaroo keeping it company while on the other side (of the same pane, of the same glass) there's the happiest Venus flytrap I've ever seen (composed of two, because as you might remember there's a Burt 1 and a Burt A, yes ?) and I really have no fucking idea.
I don't know what's going on ?
I'm confused, which I understand happens often enough with old age ; but neither am I all that old nor is this level of confusion directly accessible to the human brain I don't think. At least not that I've seen.
That'd be all, I guess. If I figure out any more I promise to write right back.———
- I'm not fucking kidding. Nowhere even remotely near anything like kidding. The first time we ran into this wonder we had to park the car on the side of the road and meditate on the topic for a few minutes, because yes, it means exactly what it says, however impossibly inconceivable and utterly taboo that might be in any of the few socio-cultural spaces that produced this whole car&road thing in the first place.
They... simply... reverse the highway, what. It used to go North, but now it doesn't. Now it goes South for a few days. What, problem ? What do you mean, "what if you want to go North ?" BUT WHY WOULD YOU ?! [↩]
- Not kidding either! The chocolate egg, not to mention the chocolate Easter bunny -- in both proper (meaning, whole) and socialist (ie, hollow) presentations -- are entirely absent. No such thing offered for sale. Everyone displays a cross with a purple sash draped around it in front of their house like it's the German Pinetree used to celebrate the death of Alexander from Abonoteichos or whatever it was, but the chocolate... meh. Would you like some (very very bad) cheese ? [↩]