Dare-est I open the letter? I opined to myself. Yes, I dare-est. It was from "Ms. E. Hen," 7 Chicken Coop Lane, Chicken Walk, Flushing, N.Y. She writes:"I wish to cackle about a worthy crusade I am leading, the purpose of which is to correct a gross bias against all women (and that includes Martha Stewart, Ann Coulter, and Theresa Heinz-Kerry). Women are asking how much longer will we have to wait before a long-suffering, sister-female is given her due? I am referring, of course, to me, the very saddened Easter Hen. If you think my job is easy, laying one egg after another, you would cackle also, under similar circumstances."Easter after Easter, despite squeezing out egg after egg, do you think I ever received any credit, gratitude, pay, benefits or overtime? Nunca! I am ignored despite the world celebrating my eggs, children seeking them on hunts and shouting with glee when they find an egg that cost me untold labor. Even great artists paint my eggs, great jewelers imitate them in precious materials and countless amateurs dip and dye them and then cheer the results."And who gets the credit? Who is sung in story and fable? Who is celebrated on Hallmark cards? Whose portrait hangs in a thousand schoolrooms? The Easter Bunny, that's who! Yes, the Easter Bunny in his idiotic bowtie and weskit. Grrr!"Tell me, who is responsible for this outrage which is an affront to all women? Where is the sense of justice and simple decency? Is it right that Mr. Easter Bunny hops down the Bunny Trail with a basket of eggs, whiskers twitching with self-satisfaction, claiming credit for someone else's work? That is the unfairest story since Adam ate the apple and Eve got the blame!"And where am I during this fowl injustice? Sitting in the chicken coop, with my little red comb flopped over in depression and my self-esteem lower than a fox's sensibilities. First, I get PES (pre-Easter syndrome), and then I get PED (post-Easter depression). It is not as though I, the Easter Hen, get credit all year long and Mr. Easter Bunny just steals the show once a year. Oh, no! For the rest of the year, I have to put up with that rooster."People also make slighting remarks about 'hen parties,' 'old biddies,' and 'brooding hens.' And then what happens? Just because I put on a little weight, suddenly, I am dropped like a hot rock for some young chick. Really! Just let me add a little plumpness, as befits a hen who has delivered many an egg, and there goes the rooster after some trophy chick. Well, I am not putting up with this anymore."The national campaign giving me, the Easter Hen, a little respect, is in high gear. My supporters are helping achieve the recognition and respectability I so richly deserve and earned. Our motto is, 'You can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.'"I know we are going against entrenched special interests backed by huge war chests, but as Chicken Little is my witness, my turn will finally come and the Easter Bunny will receive his just desserts when this is all over. However, a warning to all male chauvinists and their brethren who stand in our way for justice. If we don't succeed, I will go on strike and then see what the Easter Bunny leaves the children in their baskets next Easter. Signed - E. Hen."Whew! Don't you agree that was one angry letter? I immediately contacted my friend the Easter Bunny by haremail. I beseeched him to acknowledge the Easter Hen and give her the credit that is rightfully hers. Otherwise, I would reveal to the world the time when he mistakenly brought me colored potatoes instead of eggs last Easter.I received his answer, prefaced in bold, red lettering: "Top secret. For your eyes only! Don't repeat to anyone, especially the Easter Hen."Dear Berger's Burg, I will let you in on a secret that has burned within me for many Easters. As a baby bunny in the hutch, my name was erroneously inscribed as Easter Bunny, in the record books. A hearing-impaired registrar had mis-heard my real name.I hope you can keep a secret, but in reality my true name is Esther Bunny and I, like the Easter Hen, am female. If this secret ever gets out, children would never believe in the Easter Bunny again. So, please, Shh! P.S. This letter will disintegrate after you read it. Signed - The Easter Bunny." Esther, sweetheart, my lips are sealed.Readers, join me in sealing your lips also and, heavens to Betsy, don't dare show this column to the Easter Rabbit! However, does anyone know how we can help the poor Easter Hen end her cackling?Have a happy and joyous Easter, everyone. And, for the sake of the children, let's keep Esther's secret a secret.Reach columnist Alex Berger by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org or call 718-229-0300, Ext. 138.
©2005 Community News Group
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