Our heroine came home from the Easter Vigil and headed to the basement to assess the Easter basket situation.
Now you guys, our heroine's superpower is not organization. But in her basement there are three big green bins on a shelf. One is for Advent, one is for Christmas, and the third is for Easter. On this night, however, when the angelic crowd is exulting*, there was a moment of woe in Gladlyville: there are only two baskets in the Easter bin.
There will be seven children expecting Easter baskets tomorrow, and seven is more than two.
Where, our heroine would like to know, and also she would like to switch to first person because there's only so much third person that her patient readers can be expected to tolerate, are the other Easter baskets? Over the years we have accumulated a bunch of them. How did they all go walkabout?
I suspect that they, like other walkabout-ers before them, met the cruel fate awaiting some of those who brave the outback: I suspect they were snared by the bunyip.
Our bunyip, you might have noticed, has been keeping it on the down-low lately. Our last bunyip post, I do believe, was last Easter evening. (And we still haven't found that egg. Can you even believe it?) There've been long lonely days down there in the ductwork, it seems, and he sought consolation where he could find it. Perhaps upon his last visit to the bunyip doctor he was advised to eat more fiber.
While I can be glad in the abstract about lower rates of bunyip cancer, I also need some Easter baskets pronto.
*Did you ever wonder why the Exsultet is not the Exsultent? Why would there just be a single entity exulting? I came home and looked it up: it's because the entity is the angelica turba caelorum, the heavenly crowd of angels.
Happy Easter, all. The Lord is risen, which is all that matters. Even if do we wind up putting the goodies in plastic grocery bags.