It’s the pinatas that really make me miss being at home with the nutters who are my family. It’s the sort of holiday that for reasons not entirely known(you can tell we’re not religious) everyone really seems to come into his or her own.
Though, the last time I was home for Easter, I have to admit The Mom let me down. I really quite like the decor of Easter in that it’s finally brightly coloured and there are lots of cute chicks and bunnies and little lambs. And what I like most of all is the brightly coloured foil that covers most of the chocolate. I had begged The Mom – literally for close to a month – for an Easter basket. I really like that sort of thing. I imagined looking through the colourful hay, finding all the fun coloured eggs, and some surprises I couldn’t even imagine, and then spending hours – I’m so not even kidding – arranging them all over again: on the table, the mantle piece, my desk. Honestly, hours of fun can be had for under a tenner. The Mom refused and then caved at the last minute. In fairness, I do think she was hoping I’d eat them as this was during The Bad Crohn’s Flare and I was losing weight by the bucketload. But that’s the thing. I have no intention of eating the chocolate. I just want to play with it. I told her that she could freeze it and bring it out again next year to save on the expense. And I think she did, but the chocolates are delicate and have to fight the chicken carcasses and one thing led to another and then disaster and so no more chocolates for me. Why yes, I am still bitter.
But, pinatas. I think they started with a Jesus piñata(with apologies to any religious people out there) if I recall correctly. L’il Sis and I had consulted Other Brother on what might be the most appropriate religious icon to deface for the holiday. Knowing only what we’ve learned from The Simpsons, our religious education is perhaps lacking (though a course mate did get me a Manga version of the Bible which was quite helpful, though I can’t find it these days). Other Brother is Catholic, or at least went to the Catholic high school, so we figured he’d know these things.
As Easter is frequently referred to as Jesus Zombie Day in our house, we felt that Jesus would be a great one to start with, and that we could kick the piñata around the house, have a good game of football with The Pig, and all in all, great times would be upon us. Other Brother agreed on our choice and though he cringed once or twice during the proceedings everyone had such a good time that a tradition was born. Look, the important thing is that we brought religion into the holiday in some way.
The piñata tradition speaks to an underlying current of rage that runs through my brother, sister and I. We all have been known to enjoy a game of smashy-smash now and again when things get rough. And so having a festive toy with a purpose of being beaten is just perfect. And L’il Sis is a master piñata maker.
All in all I really have to recommend a piñata for whatever you’re doing, whenever you’re doing it. Nothing says Hen Night like a piñata with a picture of all your ex-boyfriends on it, right? You hit the shit out of it and get candy! Or, if you’re feeling clever, you can put those little airplane bottles of booze in it for the adult version. Just make sure they’re plastic. L’il Sis usually makes one for me on my birthday when I’m home, and she fills it with my preferred kind of candy: shiny and foil wrapped, and so gross and sugary that no one else will touch it. Just as well, more for me.
Anyhow, I think it’s perfectly within the realm of possibility for L’il Sis to bash up (pun intended) a piñata in homage to Trump, the biggest ass going. And I think it would be the only thing that eclipses The Mom’s other favourite holiday tradition, her turkey bonnet.