I love Easter. Not just for the melt-in-your-mouth Peeps or the stain-your-tongue black jelly beans. But I love Easter because it hovers around my birthday, and has even struck twice. Once when I was eight (Easter baskets and a birthday cake!! Although the cake was probably sugarfree or I didn’t get to eat it) and again when I was twenty-one. I remember this because I had to drive from my college town across the state five hours to my “local” courthouse to change my driver’s license on Good Friday after a grueling morning of organic chemistry lab. That was a great picture on the ole driver’s license. The college classmates were like “Hey, what bars are you going to for your birthday? Are you going downtown?” Uhh, no. It’s Easter, dude. And as a diabetic, drinking until you act like you have low bloodsugar symptoms wasn’t for me.
Fast forward to the marrying years. When all the friends start dropping like flies at the church altar. It was a time of wedding showers for me. At Hil’s we were supposed to guess her favorites, including favorite holiday.
“Labor Day!!” Seriously!
I got the favorite holiday wrong, but I shouldn’t have. Labor Day hovers and strikes around Hil’s special day of birth, too.