Two thousand years.

As your wife of many years, I have something very serious to tell you. You’d better sit down.

I am sitting down.

No, you’re sprawled in a beanbag chair. And last time I checked, that only counts as “sitting down” if it’s 1978 and we’re in the back of a Chevy van smoking doobage with Cheech and Chong.

Fine. I’ll move to the couch.

Okay, ready? I think I have a disease.

Fantastic. What is it this time?

What do you mean “what is it this time?”

Well, last year you thought you had Mad Cow disease because you accidentally licked a shovel at the fairgrounds.

Yes, but…

The year before that, it was Cat Scratch Fever and you wanted to get an X-ray because supposedly, there was a hairball stuck in your throat. Which if you recall was actually just a bad case of post nasal drip.

I never…

And two weeks ago, you claimed you caught Swine Flu after eating a ham sandwich from a gas station. You might remember begging me to email your vital statistics to Anderson Cooper with the message, “Holy crap, Coop, time’s running out.”

You know I was a little feverish that day.

So like I said, what is it this time?

First of all, I don’t like your tone. Second of all, I just self-diagnosed myself on the internet with a debilitating skin condition. It’s very serious. In fact, it may even prevent me from ever doing yoga again.

Uh-huh.

Come on—just look at my leg! See? Right here on my left thigh? See that weird waffle pattern on my skin? It doesn’t exactly look normal, does it? It doesn’t look good. In fact, it looks pretty damn scary. Oh, my God—do you think it’s…it’s… leprosy?! Oh, sweet Jesus, it IS leprosy! I have leprosy! Shit, shit, shit! (long pause) Do I get my own island now?

What?

You’d better rush me to the E.R., okay? Immediately! I mean, right after I watch Entourage.

Oh, dear God. Listen, did this “skin condition” of yours start after you took a shower?

Um, yeah.

And after said shower, did you put on your new spa robe? Your new spa robe that just so happens to have a WAFFLE pattern?

Oh, my…how did you….? Wait—do you think my leprosy is really just the robe imprint?

Well, let’s see… I’ve got to run a few tests, talk to a few experts, but YES, genius, I do. Hallelujah, you’re cured. It’s yet another medical miracle.

Oh, ha, ha! Waffle robe. That’s pretty funny, right?

Not really.

OK, so it’s not that funny. (long pause) But do I still get the island?

__________

(Wanda Sykes update: I know this will shock absolutely no one, but my plan to get Wanda to read my post didn’t work out at all last night. So if you’re going to BlogHer, look for me on stage. I’ll be the one surrounded by paramedics.)

But while it’s a great honor, to be sure, here’s the problem—I don’t sound like anything like this woman:

See, when I wrote this particular piece, the voice in my head was Wanda Sykes’—sassy, sharp and funny. But in real life, my voice is more soft, plain and boring. Sort of like a Sunday School teacher after she’s freebased a few tabs of Valium and a kettle of chamomile tea, then spent the evening listening to New Age music with a lavender pillow over her face. Meaning, I’m not sure I can give the words the punch they so desperately need.

At first I thought the solution would be to hire an acting coach, take a few classes, then get up on stage and be all Method-y and shit. You know, like Eddie Murphy in those big-people-farting movies. (Flatuence + Latex = Laugh Riot.) I soon put the kibosh on that idea, though. I mean, not only did it seem like a lot of work, but once I became an actor, I’d probably have to start hanging out at Les Deux with the Lohans and honestly, who has time to develop a nasty drug habit and have throwdowns with their DJ girlfriend when America’s Got Talent is on eight times a week? Not me, sister.

Next I tried the obvious approach and started reading my piece over and over again while looking into the mirror. That worked up until about line number two, when I got so distracted by my split ends, I had to immediately stop and go put in a 911 hair emergency call to my stylist, Mr. Jimmy (code word: “Kate Gosselin”).

But now my friend Hokgarder (aka Heather) tells me that Wanda is doing a show right here in Austin this week. I know—how perfect is that? After all, if I get her to read my post while I professionally videotape her with my son’s Fisher-Price camcorder, my problem’s solved. No pants-peeing at BlogHer for this loser! Yay! So as of today, I have two tickets to the show, a babysitter on standby, and an amazingly flimsy master plan involving a stolen bellhop’s uniform, an unmarked white van and a hilarious case of mistaken identity.

I think it’s going to work out great.

Swim Diapers

All State and Local Firework Bans

Good Taste

Common Sense

Any Music Not Recorded by Def Leppard in 1985

Sunscreen

Surgeon General Warnings

Sentences That Don’t Begin “Whoo-wee! I’ll tell you whut…”

Beverages That Won’t Work in a Beer Bong

Sobriety

Number of days it will remain this temperature in Austin: 103

Number of days since the upstairs A/C went out: 1/2

Amount of swear words uttered since the upstairs A/C went out:  50

Amount of swear words uttered that began with the word “mutha”: 50

Number of times the A/C repairman was called: 6

Number of times the A/C repairman’s secretary told us to “Keep your pants on, hon”: 2

Number of times we told the A/C repairman’s secretary to “Keep your own damn pants on, hon”: 7

Hours until the mythical A/C repairman will arrive at our house: 24

Hours until we all go insane and maim each other with sharpened Popsicle sticks: 1

Current downstairs temperature: 75

Current upstairs temperature: 95

Odds that a cloud will form on the landing where the cold air and hot air meet: 1 in 100

Odds that I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about regarding how clouds form: 1 in 1

Number of little boys who now need to sleep on the downstairs hide-a-bed: 2

Number of times little boys on the hide-a-bed will scream, “He’s touching my butt!”: 32

Number of times the little boys’ dad will scream, “Mommy’s touching MY butt!”: 1

Number of minutes mommy will glare at daddy for making this inappropriate comment: 3

Bottles of wine needed to get through The A/C Incident of 2009: 2

Bottles of wine currently in the house: 0

Average speed car will be driven to the liquor store to remedy this problem: 76 mph

Total amount of fine on speeding ticket received for the liquor store flyby: $102.00

Chances that we are all now strongly considering a move to North Dakota: 100%

(And for one more math problem, go see Heather.)

——

IT’S THE 2008 SWIMSUIT BUYING GUIDE!

1. First, what kind of suit are you looking for?

a) One-piece

b) Two-piece

c) As many damn pieces as I can possibly cram on and still be buoyant.

2. Which style of swimsuit do you like best?

a) Bikini

b) Tankini

c) 1920’s head-to-toe bathing costume made out of wool-ini

3. What shape best describes your body?

a) A Pear

b) An Apple

c) A value-sized mixed fruit tray from Costco

4. Would you say your bust is:

a) Large

b) Small

c) Something resembling a couple of lazy-ass sock puppets on holiday

5. Your lower body can best be described as:

a) Slim and boyish

b) Curvy and rounded

c) Damn, guuurrllll, you sure got you a Badonka Donka Donk.

6. What type of swimwear coverage do you prefer?

a) A Little

b) A Lot

c) A Hyberbolic Chamber

7. Do you need tummy control?

a) Does Laverne need Shirley?

8. When trying on swimsuits, do you prefer a dressing room with:

a) A full-length mirror and bright, fluorescent lighting

b) A small, cracked mirror and flickering, feeble candlelight

c) A bottle of Jack, a box of Kleenex and Jenny Craig on speed-dial

9. Which activity do you plan on doing most often in your swimwear?

a) Swimming

b) Laying out

c) Slamming six-packs of wine coolers and thinking evil thoughts about the 21 year-old in a tiny bikini who’s lying right next to me and just so totally flaunting it, the nasty, little wench

10. Finally, how much would you like to pay for your new swimsuit?

a) $30.00

b) $50.00

c) If it makes me look like a size-4, I’ll give you my Volvo, my 401K and my wedding ring, no questions asked.

So with that idea in mind, today I’ve decided to write down a few things I’ve been keeping under wraps. Things that may be shocking, alarming or just downright disgusting. But that’s OK. After all, nobody’s reading this anyway.

1. When I was 17, I threw up in a department store dressing room, then told the manager the stock boy did it.

2. I once stole office supplies from a temp job and later sold them at my neighborhood yard sale for quite a tidy profit.

3. Although I repeatedly told Jessica Tomkins that I wasn’t the one who started the vicious junior high school rumor that she went bra and underwear shopping with our PE teacher, I really was the one who started that vicious junior high school rumor.

4. I have an ongoing fantasy about winning the Powerball lottery and buying Johnny Depp.

5. Sometimes I call my cat “Margaret Thatcher,” even though I don’t think she’s British and she probably has no political experience.

6. Whenever I feel nauseous and want to make myself throw up, I imagine having to do a three-way with Billy Mays and the ShamWow guy.

7. Last year I told my kids that the Department of Health closed down all of the Chuck E. Cheeses in Austin and they won’t open back up until all the snakes are gone.

8. When I worked in advertising, I used to send fake, obnoxious e-mails about N’SYNC from my co-workers’ computers when they were away from their desks. Then I blamed it on the IT guy.

9. Last week I told my neighbor that I can’t watch her dog because I’m allergic to it, but really I just hate her dog because it’s a rabid leg humper with weird demon eyes.

10. Sometimes I cry when I watch Tom Cruise’s new movies because I’m sad he’s no longer a sweet, naive boy who only wants to fly fighter jets and hang out with Goose. Oh, Maverick. Where have you gone, my friend?

So that’s it. Man, it feels good to get all of that finally out into the open. Cathartic! And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m headed to the kitchen to get a drink and a snack. And then I think I might spend spend the rest of the day “cooking like nobody’s going to get food poisoning.”

2. Anger Management

3. Mean Girls

4. A Woman Under The Influence

5. Touch of Evil

6. Super Size Me

7. Misery

8. Chocolat

Each week, Stefanie and the also very funny Lulu and Moxley’s Mom, give their snarky critiques on genius TV shows like Kate and Kate and The Bachlorette.  And, after a very brief flirtation with Isaac Mizrahi’s no-fun fashion show, I’m now writing very bitter recaps of the trainwreck known as I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here. Oh, that Spencer and Heidi…

You can find the blog at  realityroadkill.com.

So go ahead. Click already. No big whoop.

When I first started the camp, the worst part wasn’t that it was held in the dark at 5:30 a.m. Nor was it the fact that I had to run a mile every day (without being chased; something that goes against every single one of my principles). And I even grudgingly got over the fact that, despite my high hopes, my drill instructor, Miss Rebecca, never once got in my face and screamed, “DROP AND GIVE ME 20, YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING MAGGOT!”  Which, of course, would have been completely fantastic and well worth the enrollment fee.

No, the worst part about the whole thing was when Miss Rebecca would hook up speakers to her iPod, then blast out music while we did squats and lunges. Music like “I’m Too Sexy” by Right Said Fred and “Rico Suave” by Gerado. You know, because we weren’t close enough to projectile vomiting all over the parking lot.

I thought of this recently when a friend of mine had a similar experience and asked if she could play her own iPod for everyone. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out so well because the first song that came on was by The Black Eyed Peas and the other women in the class immediately started complaining that they “didn’t like hardcore rap.” Wha? I mean, even I know that’s not hardcore rap and I used to think I was “gangsta” because I once saw MC Hammer in concert.

Anyway, in light of this, I thought I’d try a little experiment and see what the first 5 songs on my iPod are when I hit “shuffle,” then figure out how appropriate they’d be to play during my next boot camp. Here goes:

1. “Slippin’ Into Darkness” by War – Not really a great song, but at least it accurately predicts what I’ll be doing after I try to hold The Plank position for 5 minutes.

2. “Ain’t No Sunshine” by Buddy Guy – Well, this one works because there really ain’t no damn sunshine when you’re stupid enough to work out at 5:30 a.m. I mean, who’s even awake at 5:30 a.m.? Farmers and serial killers, that’s who.

3. “Got To Give It Up” by Marvin Gaye – Yay! This is my favorite song ever, so if any of the other ladies don’t like it, they’re welcome to come over to my mat and let me and my 10-pound dumbell change their mind.

4. “Tequila Sunrise” by The Eagles – Let’s see–I like tequila, the sun is rising and well, I’ve got to do something to make this pain in my hamstrings go away, don’t I? Must remember to pack pack orange juice and a shot glass in my gym bag from now on.

5. “Who Let the Dogs Out”  by Who The Hell Knows -  Um, I’m not sure how this one got on here. I blame Steve Jobs.

But now that I think about it, maybe it’s safer if I don’t offer up my iPod the next time I attend a boot camp because I’m probably just one Manilow away from being forced to scrub out the latrine with my toothbrush. And honestly, I don’t think I can squat for that long.

Sheen of flop sweat covering entire face? Check.

White legs that resemble undercooked chicken fillets? Check.

Big, floppy hat with the price tag still attached, prompting everyone at the company BBQ to start calling me “Minnie Pearl with a drinking problem”? Check.

Tank top that makes me look like Marlon Brando? Check.

Unpedicured feet so heinous, they make small children cry and run to their mothers for comfort? Check.

Last year’s skirtini from Land’s End that I hate with all of my being because IT DOES NOT PERFORM MIRACLES as promised on the stupid website and instead, makes me look like a discount flotation device with arms? Check.

Second degree burns on the back half of my body caused by sitting on the black leather seats in my hot car, right before I inadvertently taught my children 101 new swear words? Check.

Limp hair that has a lime green tinge because the water in the neighborhood pool has to be 99.9% full of chlorine in order to protect all residents from the danger that is toddler poop? Check.

You get the idea.

But now, now there’s something new that will make you look even MORE like a tool this summer. Yes, ladies, pull out your wallets, gas up the SUV and head on over to your local drugstore to pick up this little baby: a  motorized mosquito repellent machine that you can clip on to your pants while you’re enjoying a nice, romantic walk on the beach or sprawled out on your lawn perusing Cat Fancy magazine. Presenting:

True, you might look like a freakshow when you’re wearing this around the Hamptons party circuit, but, hey, at least you won’t come down with the West Nile Virus. And that’s a good summer memory right there, isn’t it?

Got a problem that needs a mostly good answer? Send it to ask@mouthyhousewives.com!

Anyway, as you can see,  before she had a hit show on TLC, Kate was sort of on the Susan Boyle-side of the attractiveness coin. Well, not that bad, but she was still just your typical looking mom. But then, thanks to the show’s producers who footed (feeted?) the bill for glamorous things like a tummy tuck, a boob job, fake tanning and teeth whitening, and, let’s not forget, her so-called “hairstyle” that I honestly think makes her look like the offspring of Posh Spice and Foghorn Leghorn, she’s now kind of a babe.

So, if you need me, I’ll be over at Target buying some new maternity clothes. After all, I’ve got to do something to get in shape for bikini season.

]]> http://wendiaarons.com/2009/05/thats-it-im-having-six-more-kids.html/feed 25 http://wendiaarons.com/2009/05/its-probably-good-thing-todays-last-day.html http://wendiaarons.com/2009/05/its-probably-good-thing-todays-last-day.html#comments Mon, 18 May 2009 23:24:00 +0000 WA http://wendiaarons.com/2009/05/its-probably-good-thing-todays-last-day.html
A few weeks ago, we took the boys to a minor league baseball game where they were given free backpacks. Jack was very excited about his and took it with him to preschool today.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t until I picked him up four hours later that I realized there were a few other free items inside the backpack for him to find. And carry around his classroom. His classroom that just so happens to be inside a church.

Like this item, for example:

We’re very proud.

The first few messages were to alert residents about the dangers in our local grocery store. Apparently, a couple of women recently left their purses in the front of their shopping carts, wandered away to the next aisle to look at food and then, when they returned, their belongings were gone. Gone! Yes, malfeasance in the meat department. What is this world coming to?

I don’t want to sound unsympathetic, because I know it sucks to lose your wallet and everything, but come on. You have to watch your stuff, no matter where you are. You just do. But maybe I only feel that way because my mother raised me to be incredibly protective and paranoid about my possessions. In fact, I think her three most often uttered words to me aren’t actually “I love you,” but “Watch my purse.” (Just kidding, mom. But it’s pretty darn close.)

Anyway, back to the crime wave: the next few e-mails that went around were from a man who left his wallet in his unlocked car and was then shocked, shocked! when it was stolen. I think his e-mail said “the bad people out there are targeting our neighborhood.” Well, of course they’re targeting our neighborhood, you genius. Because the people who live here leave their wallets in unlocked cars. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel, man. At least lock the doors so the robbers have to work up a sweat by trying to throw a rock through your windshield.

After days spent reading these messages, myself and some of my friends—-the other subversives in the subdivision—-finally started to send each other e-mails like this one:

Subject: CITIZEN’S ALERT!

Dear Neighborhood Residents:

Last night, I left $2 million dollars in gold bullion and caviar in my front yard with a 2,000-watt spotlight shining right on it. Also, there was a neon sign flashing the words, “LOOK! AN UNATTENDED $2 MILLION DOLLARS IN GOLD BULLION AND CAVIAR! PLEASE, NO TOUCHING! WE’RE ON THE HONOR SYSTEM AROUND HERE! ALTHOUGH, RIGHT NOW WE’RE SOUND ASLEEP BECAUSE WE JUST HAD A LOT OF BENADRYL AND WHISKEY, SO WE PROBABLY WOULDN’T HEAR YOU IF YOU HAPPENED TO LOAD IT UP IN YOUR TRUCK AND SPEED IT AWAY TO YOUR SECRET LAIR!!! BUT PLEASE, DON’T DO WHAT I JUST SUGGESTED RIGHT THEN, OK? THAT PART ABOUT THE LOADING IT UP? THANX!!!”

And believe it or not, fellow residents, this morning when I woke up, I was shocked, shocked! to see that my gold bullion was gone!!! (Not the caviar, though, because it had kind of turned rotten overnight, making it too much of a risk. Even for those thuggy types.) So, beware, all people of this subdivision! There are criminal masterminds in our area using all of their high-tech tricks—-like the power of sight—-to rip off us innocent people. NO ONE IS SAFE!! I REPEAT, NO ONE!! PLEASE, BE ON HIGH ALERT!

Signed,
Your neighbor with the runny caviar and neon sign in his yard

Actually, after two weeks of sending obnoxious e-mails like that one around the neighborhood, maybe it’s good that I’m on high alert.

“Nah,” said Marinka, slamming down her shot glass and wiping her mouth with her fist.”That won’t work because the only people who’d buy that stupid book are sitting in this room. Besides, then we’d all have nightmares about being ice-picked by a stripper named SinDee.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” muttered Jessica. “I know! Let’s work for Oprah! She would so totally hire us to be experts on her show as long as we agreed to agree with everything she said! Plus, I once sat next to Nate Berkus at Bennigan’s.”

“But, but…if we went to work for Oprah and made millions of dollars and became internationally famous, then how would we ever get all of our housework done?” moaned Heather. “You know how all of us love cleaning and cooking more than anything else in life!”

“True that,” said Kelcey.

“Uh-huh, I do loves me some Swiffer,” added Marinka.

“Well, then,” puzzled Jessica, “just how can we combine our counseling expertise…”

“With our badass domestic skills?” finished Heather.

“Hey, guys! I got it! I got it!” yelled a very youthful and really, quite stunning, me, from my recumbent position on the chaise lounge chair nearest the wet bar. “Now listen–all we have to do is just raise a few mil in venture capital, rent some hip, yet well-lit downtown office space, hire a few hundred obsequious employees, start a huge marketing campaign that makes no sense whatsoever but stars Ashton Kutcher and a colobus monkey, buy ten or more neon billboards on Sunset Boulevard, start massively infighting days before our big launch, but then right in the midst of the hair pulling, we weepily hug it out in the ladies room and…”

“Or,” sighed the rest of the women as they took away my wine glass and mercilessly tried to strangle me with my own Snuggie, “we could just start another blog, you dumbass.”

Oh. Yeah. That we could.

Introducing:

Just click on The Mouthy Housewives, see what we have to say, then leave a comment and maybe even submit a question or two. Trust me, you’ll be helping us all out because, between you and me, I really don’t think that Oprah gig’s gonna pan out.

m2mn5jmta8

But even more frightening than a gaggle of illiterate pole workers trying to win the heart of Bret Michaels are the people I have to deal with on a daily basis. People so reckless, so dangerous, that I feel my life is in constant peril whenever I’m near them. Like true sociopaths, they have no fear. No remorse. No knowledge of their surroundings. Instead, they’re drunk on freedom, high on caffeine and in a really, really big, damn hurry to get to the half-yearly sale at Nordstrom.

They’re the mothers in my preschool’s parking lot.

Each morning as I’m walking back to my car after dropping off Jack, I find myself the near victim of a ruthless hit-and-run when I have to dive out of the way to avoid a harried woman gabbing away on her cellphone while she zooms past me in her luxury SUV. Last week I was almost sideswiped by a tennis skirt in a Land Rover. The week before it was yoga pants in an Escalade. And today I was nearly nailed by a merciless miniskirt in a minivan.

I’m destined to become preschool roadkill.

Of course, I understand why these mothers are in such a hurry. I totally do. With only four hours to themselves while their kids are in school, they don’t want to waste a single minute of their precious time. No, they want to get to where they’re going and they want to get there now. And all I am is just one more annoying obstacle standing in their way. (Albeit an annoying obstacle holding up both of her middle fingers and screaming, “Slow the f*#k down, you crazy nutjob! I don’t want to die today! Not before I’ve had a mani/pedi!”)

So starting tomorrow, I’m going to wear a bright, orange safety vest and a giant, pink cowboy hat whenever I’m walking through the parking lot. Of course, I don’t think it’ll make the mothers actually stop their cars for me. But they might slow down a little to make fun of my outfit.

(Note: Please excuse any typos as I had to write this on my iPhone while frantically peeling out of the school parking lot in my Volvo SUV. What? There’s a sale at Banana Republic.)

Wendi Aarons

In fact, here are a few sample tweets I’ve written on behalf of various celebrities. As you can see, I pretty much nailed ‘em.

Britney Spears: Hey, y’all! It’s me, Britney! Tough choice–do I want paper or plastic??!? These Wal-Mart questions make my head hurt!! But not enough to shave it!! Ha ha ha!!!

Kate Winslet: Ugh! Out of Swiffer refills. Again!

Ernest Borgnine: Am I dead or alive? I’d really like to know because I have a hot stone massage scheduled for 4 o’clock. Let me know, my peeps! Thanx!!!

Robert DeNiro: Some people just don’t understand what “10 Items or Less” means. Jeez! Learn how to count, you dumb humps!

Vin Diesel: What do this? Me punchy keys? Do need kno spell? Twittah? Tweetah? Tweety Burd? He funny! Ugh! Dis hard! Stupid machine from future. Vin no want do no more. Vin sleepy.

Spencer Pratt: Good God, I’m such a douche.

Jennifer Aniston: Just signed up with Match.com because I’m 40 & desperate! (Brad sux!!) Meeting blind date “BadBoi304″ @ Chili’s tonight! Hope we become good “Friends”! ROFLMAO!

Seth Rogan: Why does a dumpy guy like me make more movies than Daniel Craig who should be in every movie possible just so the housewives of the world don’t riot? Seriously, dude.

Harrison Ford: OMG, am I handsome. So, so incredibly handsome. Even at my age. What the hell am I doing with Calista? She’s got the bodyweight of a toddler. Must rethink. OK, laters!

Miley Cyrus: I’m 16 and dating a hot 20 year-old model! And driving a Porsche! WTF? Don’t my parents realize I’m headed straight for Dana Plato city? Think, Billy Ray. Think.

Larry King: What is this thing? Do I talk into it? Or should I be using dots and dashes? Can you hear me? Who is this? Where am I? Where’s my blanket? Should I type now? Is it an adding mach

Martha Stewart: I’ve just created a lovely spring basket out of the toilet seat covers and tampons I found whilst peeing in the ladies restroom at LAX! It’s a spectacular centerpiece!

Kim Kardashian: I’m more famous for my big booty than the winners of the Nobel Peace Prize are for making the world a better place. Man, I love this country. Ciao!!

Barry Manilow: I love my fans! Especially you,Wendi!! You’re a miracle, a true-blue spectacle & people should stop calling you a f*@*ing lameass Fanilow! Looks like YOU made it, babe!

Oh, Barry. I did, didn’t I?

Dear Parents:

Due to some rather unfortunate incidents that transpired during last spring’s school-wide Easter Egg Hunt, it has become necessary to take certain precautions this year. Therefore, listed below please find the items that should not, under any circumstances, be used to fill the plastic eggs used for the hunt.

For most of you, this list is simple common sense. However, as we learned far too late last year, there are a few troublemakers among you who apparently find it amusing to go to a divey bar the night before, get “totally sh*tfaced”, then “load up the mothereffin’ Eastey eggs” so chaos can then ensue the next day at the taxpayers’ expense.

We truly hope these inconsiderate renegades will not take this rather nasty route again and instead, fill the eggs with lollipops, sunshine and other items that represent the Spirit of the Bunny. Let’s make this a special day for children and parents alike.

NOT TO BE USED AS EGG FILLERS:

Cigarette Butts

Tequila

Lime Slices

Salt

Hair Extensions

Beer Nuts

Cocktail Napkins covered in unemployed men’s phone numbers

Lee Press-On Nails

Jell-O Shots (of any flavor)

Tattoo Parlor “Buy One/Get One Half-Off” coupons

“Items” purchased from the vending machine in the ladies’ restroom

Chicken

Thank you for your cooperation in this matter. Also, please be advised that this year, we will be conducting mandatory fingerprinting of all parents an hour before the event. Happy Easter and Happy Hunting!

While this was just pure fiction for me, apparently there are some very funny people out there who really are bad eggs.

Wendi Aarons