'Pizza is better than Easter eggs'
I feel a bit guilty. I promised my partner Jack an Easter egg hunt and didn't deliver. Easter and all that accompanies it is a non-event in our house anyway. It's usually the middle weekend of the Melbourne comedy festival, by which point my voice is starting to go and my liver is like the engine in a 1978 Toyota Lancer.
It's also a notoriously tricky weekend to sell tickets due to the mass exodus from town, which made it all the more satisfying seeing people filling shows with their patronage and laughs. I mentioned to Jack, however, that I was going to do an Easter egg hunt for him several weeks ago and his response each time was "I'm not 12". Yep I know, I thought, it would be a little creepy if I did it.
Anyway, long story short, Easter Sunday rolled around two days ago and, shock horror, Jack and I were in bed and far too hungover to "roll over and grab the Panadol please" - let alone me scatter small eggs through the house and cause a potential tripping hazard during one of our no doubt many trips to the front door to receive Uber Eats.
I didn't feel too bad until I scrolled through Instagram to see countless couples who'd done romantic egg hunts for their partners. And seeing as how we live for the 'Gram these days, they were perfectly Instagrammable to show just how in love and perfect their relationships were.
I saw egg hunts with cryptic clues attached, hunts with more Lindt balls thrown at it than a David Jones foodcourt, some even went as far as making fake bunny paw prints.
Another friend proposed to his partner with a diamond ring. Yes, he took it about 18 steps too far but all the other gestures were so cute and I suddenly felt like a terrible boyfriend.
OK, I'm being dramatic. Terrible-ish. Lucky being the smooth mover I am, I had some stale choc-chip hot cross buns that had been given to me about a week ago. So after a zap in the microwave and about 3 kilos of butter applied to give them some - any - form of moisture, I presented those to Jack with a coffee in bed. It wasn't remotely Instagrammable and I ended up spilling half the coffee on our white sheets. He had two bites of the buns before saying they were inedible.
So, we decided Easter was a bust and returned to bed. But I had one flourish of romance left and uttered these words of pure poetry: "you can choose what we get on Uber Eats".
Romance is alive and well in our house! And for the record, we got pizza. It was way better than any Easter egg could ever be.
Originally published as Pizza is better than Easter eggs