Egg hunts for the adults in your life

I tried to keep track of the number of times I used the word “fuck” in one week and I lost count pretty quickly, definitely before Day Three. On weekends, I sleep in until at least 9, though honestly, it’s usually a lot later. These aren’t things I’m proud or embarrassed of; these are just a few of the many traits and habits that add up to me: an unmarried adult with no children who runs a newspaper and writes young adult novels in my spare time. It’s safe to say there is at least the appearance of contradictions in my personality.

It’s always a bit awkward when holidays roll around and I scheme and plot and delight like a crazed, foul-mouthed elf stockpiling presents and decorations. People don’t seem to understand why someone like me would celebrate Christmas and Easter and anything else that warrants a special notation in my datebook. I don’t have kids to impress, a god to worship, money to spare.

So why celebrate?

I happen to think there are too many days without birthday cakes and candles, on which nobody feels particularly special or expects good things to come their way. There are so many days when all you can expect from the mailbox are bills or rejection letters, when dinner is whatever you can throw together quickly with little to no fanfare. That’s adulthood: nobody making an effort to make you feel special, hiding pastel Easter eggs in your backyard, or filling stockings with treasures just for you.

After awhile, I start to crave the special days. It took me awhile to realize, but there are ways of celebrating that accommodate your own unique lifestyle. This Easter, for example, will be my fourth annual Adult Easter Egg Hunt.

306113_10150686115463355_1354796686_nWhen it started, I had no idea it would become an annual event. I just kind of missed running around the yard with an Easter basket and figured there was a good chance my childless adult friends did as well. So I created an event, asked everyone who planned on attending to provide $10-$20 worth of egg stuffers and let nature take its course.

We amassed piles of miniature alcohol bottles, tons of condoms and other assorted adult paraphernalia, as well as the standard Cadbury eggs and candy. I bought hundreds of plastic eggs of all sizes and even asked an artist buddy to paint a couple of eggs I had cleaned out. On Easter Sunday a dozen or so adults gathered on my porch just before 3 p.m. when the hunt was scheduled to begin. I’d raided the Dollar Store and cleaned them out of Easter baskets and bunny ears and the sight of my depraved friends gathered on my porch clutching frilly baskets and, in one case, chain-smoking, had me giggling well before the hunt even began.

It took me a full two hours to hide all the eggs, which totaled more than 700. Of course, I started by 534081_10150686109583355_1686081070_n 534685_10150686109038355_1037400084_ncarefully placing each egg for the first half hour and wound up throwing them haphazardly once I realized how long it would take at my present pace. But hiding for adults—even adults who have been drinking before the hunt—is a little more challenging than hiding for eggs for children.

We had three prize eggs—giants stuffed with special treats. The first year I just tucked them in random hideaways figuring that some lucky seeker would receive a pleasant surprise. Then I decided to make it a little more challenging. I hid one in a tree, mostly because I wanted an excuse to utilize my climbing gear (a decision I do not regret after watching Maeva Considine alternately trying to shove her girlfriend Aileen up a tree while beating an intern with a branch yelling, “down intern, down”). I placed another on the roof. For the rest of the year, anytime I’m in my yard gardening I find myself thinking about the egg hunt and wondering where I should hide the next year’s prizes.

The second year, spurred by the fact that people had mostly overlooked the dyed eggs the year before, I 582549_10150686118513355_1424906864_ndyed eggs and had them printed with one of the seven deadly sins. Whoever accumulated the most deadly sins won the enormous prize egg. After the hunt was over and people hauled their treasures to the trampoline to assess what they’d acquired (mostly swapping candy and toys like little kids after trick or treating), I had the surreal vision of my friends holding up eggs and calling “sloth” or “lust” or “gluttony.”

I’ve had drunk friends blow up Peeps in my microwave, crushed a plastic egg beneath my foot months after Easter had passed, watched my560488_10150686112793355_394290235_n boyfriend have an emotional breakdown after making too many deviled eggs for the party, and made threatening phone calls to friends who didn’t provide their share of egg stuffers in the days leading up to the party. It’s utterly ridiculous, I know, and might even sound meaningless and strange to some. But it’s my life. And I kind of love it.

I love that I have a reputation for being competitive at hide and seek; that my neighbor sometimes asks if 577844_10150686118233355_1121580381_nshe can jump on my trampoline; that my adult friends who might otherwise spend that particular Sunday thinking about holidays long gone and wishing someone would buy them a chocolate bunny have somewhere to go, a place where they can embrace the wonder and joy of childhood without having to apologize for the fact that they’re adults. It’s the best of both worlds, or at least the best method of incorporating the holiday into my world. And yes, I probably won’t feel so jubilant on Friday night when I’m stuffing hundreds of eggs with miniature alcohol bottles and Cadbury eggs or on Saturday when I’m scrubbing my house for our guests, but the sight of those eager, happy faces 576443_10150686114263355_1232124309_n 575548_10150686113418355_407000261_nrunning around my yard will more than make up for any inconvenience.

Maybe your Easter is very different from mine. Maybe no one swears at all and the pitter patter of little feet are exactly that. However you celebrate, and whatever you believe, I hope it’s a good day, the type of day during which you expect only good things from the world–chocolate bunnies and time with the people you love, or at least the people who entertain you and don’t add to your burden of stress.

 

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PHOTOS BY COLIN RIGLEY

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Comments

  1. This actually sounds like a lot of fun. I’ll be with family this Easter, but what a great idea!!

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