status: little Olivia is scared.

Tomorrow is my birthday and I am remembering how much of a kid I am fated to be. I have many fears. One of the hugest is of the easter bunny. Someone mentioned lent the other day and I shuddered. I saw those marshmallow fluorescent peeps in the drug store, went to buy them for my friends, and reminded myself: I can't be surrounded by those evil things! and dropped them back on the shelf. This is a difficult terror to have, because I love rabbits, they used to be my favourite animal. I had a pet white rabbit named Snowy - of course. What is it about the bringer of chocolate eggs? Well, I am absolutely terrified of those big bunny suits that swallow the person whole. Every easter my large family would go to the same easter party at a golf club. It was usually sunny and no surprise, I was incredibly sensitive to the sun, so already a bad scene. I had been forced into a scratchy dress and being a big tomboy and proud of it, a dress was an embarrassment. The uncles and my dad made sure the cars were all parked properly and locked and we lined up to get in. Strange that there was a line up, isn't it? Well it's because a big fat fucking super cheery easter bunny was standing at the door handing every. single. child. a handful of chocolate eggs. I freaked out. I yanked on my mother's arm, she ignored me, I pretended I was feeling sick, she ignored me, I whined, she ignored me. But we're getting closer to the rabbit, and his huge paws and stupid head keep bobbing up and down, and some echo-y voice coming from inside of him is laughing and greeting the greedy little monsters. Finally I have the smarts to bother my dad. And he patiently acquiesces. Victory! But I feel awful. We are so close to the door, it's urgent, I pull him aside. And he reassures that there are many entrances into the building. We circle the entire club, try many, many doors, all locked. Finally, we reach the big french windows - also locked - and he raps on the glass, someone inside the party looks at us curiously, generously lets us in, and asks what we were doing. I glare at my toes. My father mumbles something about wanting to take a better look at the scenery. Absolute hell. It's even difficult to write this post.