We had a nice Easter down the Cape with my in-laws, and while we were stuck in traffic on the way home, I had a lot of time to think. About Cadbury Crème Eggs. And about how I thought they were totally awesome before I read the comments on my Easter poll, and how now I think they totally suck because someone, somewhere has the GOOD KIND. The BIG kind. Isn’t that the Easter lesson I should be taking home? To take for granted the stupid stuff I have and covet what’s in everyone else’s Easter basket?
So, I have three choices as I see it. I can write an endearing letter to Cadbury and hope they throw me a bone (my letters always go over well, right Dunkin’ Donuts?). I can beat the shit out of B.J. Novak to get access to his freezer stash. Or I can put out a request to my millions of readers who might reside in such far-flung locales as Canada or Australia or Great Britain, where, rumor has it, vast stashes of the GOOD KIND of Cadbury Crème Eggs reside. As usual, the choice with the least amount of work appeals to me, so listen up, Canadians/ Australians/Britons.
I propose a Cadbury Crème Egg cultural exchange program wherein somebody sends me two of the GOOD KIND of Cadbury Crème Eggs and, in return, I send that person two of our crappy American kind. Two in case one breaks in transit. Then, we’ll find out how the other half really lives. During their stay, we’ll take in some culture, the Crème Eggs and I. Maybe go on a Duck Tour, enjoy some fine dining at Legal Sea Foods, and I’ll teach them the finer points of the Boston accent before devouring them on the banks of the Charles. Actually, better make it three Crème Eggs for the exchange. Three hundred.
I really can’t consider this a successful Easter until this Crème Egg thing is resolved. They have a name for this type of personality, but I can’t write it down right here where she can see it. Anyway, e-mail me if you’re interested. The sales start tomorrow. Chop chop.