I’ve always heard that a writer should never make apologies for their writing, but the column I’m about to put here . . . well, it stinks. And for that, I’m sorry. I don’t always like my columns, but this one I especially dislike. I wasn’t even going to post it, but a couple readers emailed asking me to (for some reason) post it. So here goes.

SPOILER ALERT - Notice is hereby given to readers that the material that will eventually follow this pronouncement could potentially spoil much-cherished childhood beliefs.

The Easter Bunny is a fraud.

I wonder how many of you read that first sentence and immediately skimmed way down the page, expecting to spot the spoiler and were all disappointed when it wasn’t where you thought it would be?

You see, I thought it would be clever to start my first foray into serious investigative journalism by attempting a double duping, a concrete conning, a . . . um. Heh. This is embarrassing. I’ve just got those two. 

Anyway, I figured it would be appropriate to preface my big news about the fraudulent rabbit with a demonstration of deliberate deception. And if anyone’s still with me on this, it should be obvious to said reader (Hi, Mom!) that said writer is badly in need of some sleep (and perhaps a few weeks of rest in a room with soft walls and those cute back-lacing jackets).

Ok, so here’s the deal on the rabbit, or “bunny” as he so goo-ily refers to himself. (His celebrity has totally gone to his head. Seriously. Have you seen the size of his noggin these days? He’s a total freak of nature. The Jimmy Neutron of the rabbit world. [Hey, look! An aside inside an aside!] I hear Macy’s is considering hosting an Easter Day Parade, and might float the big-headed bunny down the street like a giant balloon.)

I first became suspicious about the authenticity of the holiday hare when I spotted him at the mall, nibbling on a healthy carrot while posing for photos and promising one stiffly dressed child after another that he’d soon be bringing baskets filled with chocolate and candy and eggs. But when one tyke tried to share a sticky fistful of jellybeans, E.B. recoiled. When another kid offered a carefully peeled hard-boiled egg–”I never touch the stuff!” he said with disgust.

Hmmm, I thought. Why would an attention-sucking rabbit decide to pass out goodies he clearly despises?

And I was thus compelled to begin my painstaking research.

“Hey, honey,” I said to my husband. “Why do you think the Easter Bunny is willing to work such crazy hours passing out candy and eggs when he hates that kind of thing?”

“Dad told me the truth ages ago. Said he couldn’t stomach lying to his own children,” said Geoff. “The bunny is really just the front man for the Easter Pig.”

“Front man?” I asked.

“You see, pigs aren’t exactly . . . well, they’re not a holiday marketer’s dream creature. They aren’t cute, fuzzy, or cuddly,” said Geoff. “And from a practical standpoint, pigs don’t have laps. They’re physically incapable of sitting in a chair at the mall and balancing a child on their knee. Apparently, a lap is apparently a non-negotiable requirement for the position.”

“Sounds like typical business,” I said. “The lowly pig does all the grunt work. The fancy rabbit gets all the perks.”

“I suppose you could say the Easter Bunny is the holiday version of lip synching,” said Geoff. “People believe he’s the talent, but he’s really just the cute face, mouthing the words.”

“How on earth have they managed to keep this a secret so long?”

“The Easter Pig isn’t a ham,” said Geoff. “He doesn’t want to hog the attention, so he hasn’t squealed.”

Instead of being disgruntled, he’s a truly fine swine.

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