Easter memory overload
This photo in an email from Vineyard Vines jolted me into my childhood super hard. I can feel and hear all the crinkly green cellophane grass between my fingers as I dig through plastic wicker for jelly beans. And I see meadows of fresh green grass but taste the dusty smell of church and stale chocolate. I want mud stains on my khakis and blazer and I want to pretend to like Jesus and deservedly drink bloody marys. Alas, I am a sober and atheist dweller of a leafless industrial park and I eat eggs everyday for breakfast come rain or resurrection. But man do I love pastels and can I tie a tie.