On the Easter Bunny

When I was three or four, my mother promised me that she would never knowingly lie to me. She felt this was important for a child to know.

The next day I asked her if the Easter Bunny was real.

"Well, what do you think?" she stammered, praying to everything on high that I would somehow provide her with an out.

"I don't think he's real," I said. "No bunny is six feet tall with a plastic head."