It's Easter, and I have successfully navigated the month of April without a single piece of candy passing through my lips. I did, however, dye an egg. In keeping with a four year old tradition (I think it's been four years now?), my friends and I once again gathered for beer and Ukrainian egg dying. One Flying Fish Exit 4 beer decimated me for the night (but it's 9.5% alcohol!), and my hand-eye coordination apparently rivals that of a five year old with ADHD when I am a wee bit inebriated:
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| Friends shouldn't let friends dye drunk. |
Right now it's surprisingly nice out for an Easter Sunday. Growing up, I don't ever remember having an Easter Egg hunt with my cousins that didn't involve scrabbling through mud and wet grass in a cold drizzle. Now that we're too old for our parents to justify hiding plastic eggs full of loose change for us to fight over, Easter decides to be warm and gorgeous. It's just as well, though. Finding money isn't nearly as exciting when you know you'll just use it to buy groceries or pay your electric bill.
Time to go mix up the dressing for the kale slaw I'm taking to dinner at my aunt's house! I hope everyone at least tries it, but I'm not going to hold my breath for that one. Usually my attempts to introduce healthy things are not well-received, so we'll see.
At least in your drunken egg dying you didn't cover it in drawings of penises. Because I'm pretty sure that's what I would have done.
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