It’s Easter time (again) and you are tasked with buying your loved ones Easter eggs for the big day. Do you:
(a) Stand in the chocolate aisle in the supermarket with every intention of buying treats for your family (but accidentally buy a load of crap for yourself)
(b) Get so irate with Easter shoppers that you almost elbow someone in the face … but have second thoughts, so opt for ‘tutting loudly’ instead
(c) Make the most of the free Easter egg giveaway at work (very nice of them) and plan to gift the egg to your spouse (but eat the entire thing the moment you get back to your desk)
(d) Do all of the above (*guilty*)
As a true millennial (aka a woman in her 30’s with no children and a dog who is so food obsessed he once stuck his head into a dog walker’s pocket and pulled out a bag of chicken), it would be easy to believe that Easter in my household is a low-key affair.
Sadly for my husband this has not been the case. Every year, I insist he puts on an Easter egg hunt for me, with Yakety Sax on full blast, while I bound around the house putting eggs in my basket (by basket, I mean the laundry basket or a bag for life – whatever comes to hand first).
Last year, I let this tradition slip (to my husband’s relief), following The Great Christmas Disaster of 2022, where the dog ate all of my Christmas presents. The idea that the dog might eat all of my Easter eggs was too much to handle, so we were cautious with our chocolate intake. (By cautious, I mean that I have taken it upon myself to ensure that any chocolate which enters the house is destroyed – consumed – immediately by yours truly).
This year, we decided to swerve the egg hunt again and be boring and grown-up, by opting for a simpler weekend: ‘Let’s do the gardening, go to the pub, eat a roast, watch the TV.’ Bliss.
So, you can imagine my husband’s horror when we swapped eggs and realised that I had accidentally bought him an ‘Easter egg hunt in a box’ (for children), complete with 23 eggs – instead of getting him an actual Easter egg, like I thought I had. Oops.
It all started when I set about my shopping and somehow picked the only supermarket in the town with no lactose free section.
(Shout out to the dairy-intolerant husbands – I see you)
This resulted in me making a ‘panic-buy’ dash to another supermarket, where the Easter egg hunt in a box had got lost on the dairy-free shelf … and picked up by silly old me.
(Shout out to the wives of dairy-intolerant husbands – especially those who don’t read the label – I see you)
I am glad to say that my husband found the situation funny (phew). And by ‘funny’, I mean he is loading up Yakety Sax, taken a lactose tablet and is hoping for the best.
Now if you don’t mind me, I’m off to plan how I can accidentally ruin the next bank holiday.
The Life Crisis 
What a relief! I was HOPING there’d be an “all of the above”…
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