I understand the bunnies.
I get the eggs.
And all the spring fertility symbols.
And yes, the dude on the cross.
Or in the tomb and then not anymore. Whatever.

I do not understand. Why ham is required for all of this.

Stinky, smelly smoked ham. That apparently nearly everyone on my block had in their oven or smoker at some point last weekend. Because the stench woke me from a dead sleep on Saturday, even with all the windows closed. Faugh! By 4pm I was seriously thinking about driving to Mickey’s Military Surplus and picking up a secondhand Israeli gas mask.

And here I was so pleased I was going to finally make it through an Easter without being molestered by any of the local Christian church-mongers. Knocking on my door with Easter baskets full of Jeebus pamplets and trying to tempt me into accepting a front-door jellybean conversion. …But that was before the layer of ham-smoke settled like a disgusting blanket over my previously pleasant weekend.

To make myself feel better about the stench, I pulled my shirt collar up over my nose and fetched my laptop. I then watched The Easter Bunny Hates You about six times. Besides being holiday appropriate, it is one of my favorite-ist vids, and always makes me feel better about everything.

After that, I rummaged through the recycling bin to find newspaper ads for local Easter church services. I took the pile of papers and put it in the bottom of the creatures’ litterboxes. For them. To poop on.

Felt much, much better after that. Even though the ambient unclean ham stench didn’t clear out until late on Sunday afternoon…