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Confession (Tomboy): Easter was invented specifically to remind us that we must eat all animals, especially super cute baby ones, because even the candy is shaped like rabbits and lambs and chicks and eggs. Most people don't cook rabbit, though. But they do cook pork! I love pork. I love pork chops and bacon and ribs and pork belly and HAM. Mmm, ham. I had some spiral honey glazed ham for dinner, along with some asparagus in hollandaise sauce and scalloped potatoes. Ordinarily I pass up asparagus - because it looks ridiculous and tastes rubbery usually- but with the sauce, it quickly surpassed the potatoes as my favorite side dish. I didn't even have room to eat my choco-bunny, but that just means I can extend Easter a little bit longer.

Confession (Femme): Easter Sunday at my mother's was quite lovely! The weather was great, my younger brothers had their usual three stooges shtick going and I plied my folks with enough booze to keep things nice and breezy. M, the petite and I went on a midday bike ride in search of a pond and some cows grazing in a field nearby. There was a fine meal and hunting for Easter eggs and my mom even let me copy down some recipes from my beloved and much guarded Grandma's recipe box. During all of this, a lifetime mystery was solved. Y'all know how I'm the most fussy, persnickety eater ever?


Get this: When I was born, not only did my mother have a diaper service come along to the house several times per week, she also made all of my baby food herself. By hand. Without exception. Super hippie-yuppy stuff (for 1980, anyway). She kept it all up for at least two years until my brother came along, at which point she did what any self-respecting mother would do, which was to throw up her hands and say, "To hell with all this shit! Disposable diapers and Gerber FTW!" But because every fruit and vegetable I'd had until then had been pureed to high heaven and back from its original organic form, introducing me to the actual textures was never successful. This was compounded by my asshole father's strict parenting, which allowed zero room for the occasional normal fussy eating of children, much less bringing me 'round to new textures in a non-traumatic way. Not only that, but my mother's aversions to certain textures mirrors mine exactly, to this day.

M sat across the table completely bewildered, partly speechless and partly actively engaging in the unraveling. It is no wonder that I'll branch out and be more adventurous so long as the texture of whatever scary food is rendered almost completely unknown. I'll throw fruits I'd never eat whole into a blender for a smoothie. I'll refuse to eat corn any other way than on the cob - even if you cut it off with a knife right in front of me, I probably wouldn't eat it.

I realize all of this would be settled rapidly in by living for a few weeks in a third world country, and trust me, I've considered it. M has made me much braver than I used to be, and we're continously making little deals with one another - I'll try something she wants me to try, if she does something I want her to do (and no, it's not always dirty!). There's still hope for me yet!

PS. I stole this blog post title from my friend's Easter photo album. It was too cute to not share!

PPS. Before you even bother to ask, yes of course I rode the bike in this dress, heels and gloves. It was a very fancy bike ride.