3 Reasons Why I Refuse to Be Your Freakin’ Easter Bunny
Photo by Kenny Eliason on Unsplash
Because I play Mrs. Claus during the holidays, party planners assume I’m willing to portray the Easter Bunny.
I’m not.
In fact, I am vehemently opposed to the Easter Bunny. Here’s why I wouldn’t be caught dead in the idiot suit:
I prefer to hide eggs, not my eyes. Picture this. Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny walk into a bar. I’m not suggesting they drink alcohol. Let’s say the two of them walk into a bar to be social, just a couple of biblical-adjacent guys drinking milk with humanity. St. Nick takes a seat to your right. The Easter Bunny takes the stool to your left. Who is the better conversationalist? Santa, of course. Not just because he can speak clearly and turn his head, but because he’s wearing pants. I demand that everyone, most especially Christians, cover privates in public. Whatever they’re into at home is between them and God. The rest of us don’t want to see the bits.
The rabbit is sketchy. Most Americans can at least put on pajama bottoms before they go to church. Yet, in malls across the United States, the Easter Bunny sits butt nekkid in an egg-shaped throne. Parents pay for their children to visit E.B. (Easter Bunny), a landmark thrill second only to sitting on Santa’s lap. Perhaps rabbit pics make the crucifixion feel a little more cheerful, more all American. But how American is this bunny with the pastel vest and twitchy tail? If the ear-ry one talks, he does so awkwardly through the screen in his hard, white noggin’. The voice inside may be female. Therefore, our “hero” presents as non-binary, not a good influence if he or she decides to announce pronouns. What exactly is Mr./Ms. Bunny’s legal status? According to German Lutheran folklore — leave it to the Lutherans — a clothed hare acted as a judge of character. The rabbit was the very symbol of chastity. Why? He/she could reproduce while maintaining virginity. Ah, science according to religion.
I’m asthmatic. Can you imagine what it would be like to be inside a piece of dander? Or a cotton seed? If I were to don a polyfoam mask, one that other people had worn and perspired in, I promise you would witness an asthma attack. Helpless in plush mittens, I couldn’t manipulate an inhaler, much less get it anywhere near my actual mouth. With all the artificial fabrics, I would emerge cussing and covered in sweaty hives. Then I would fall on the floor hacking. I am also tall at 5’10’’. And I have a brain. In summation, a giant, wheezing, rude, and nude rabbit will ruin spring.
For the record, I’m also not willing to play Mother Goose, although she’s a perfectly fine woman. I’m just not into it. I would play the Church Lady.
Ann Votaw is from Fort Wayne, Ind., and lives in New York City. Since 2017, she has portrayed Mrs. Claus and is writing a memoir about Christmas. This article first appeared in Medium.