A Warm Reception at the Neighborhood Egg Hunt...NOT!

Over a year ago, when Jeff and I moved into our Wisteria Lake-like neighborhood, we discovered that they held an annual Easter Egg Hunt. We made the executive parental decision that since colored, plastic eggs and pastel foil-wrapped candy had nothing to do with the whole Jesus legend, we would let Rachael participate. Besides, I know that if I hold her out of this, much like myself, she will rebel by becoming completely absorbed with everything that I define as taboo. For the record, we are telling her now that medical school is some weird, cult-like place where they make magic and voodoo happen, and we are keeping our fingers crossed.

Naturally, on the morning that I rely on my destructive little munchkin to wake us up at the usual time of 7:30/8:00ish, we ending up prodding her out of bed around 9:30 am. We hurried to the children’s park at the end of our street only to be greeted with a disgusted glance from the woman who was bestest buddies with the woman who used to own this house. I returned the glare, and walked right past her trying to avoid the small talk in which she tells me what good friends she used to be with the former owners of my house, and that she’s so sorry they moved. I think the bitch took the hint, because she left soon thereafter.

Jeff helped Rachael gather all of her eggs, while I tried to control Fozzy on the thin leash that kept him from sniffing the butts of everyone searching the park for plastic eggs. My dog might be a short guy, but he is very fat, and has the girth necessary to pull me off my feet. Jeff and I tried to smile and hoped to strike up small talk with some of the other neighbors present at the egg hunt, but they were having none of it.

The only ones who talked to us were an elderly couple that resided on the other side of the neighborhood. Everyone else ignored us like the plague. Since I’m used to not fitting in, and it doesn’t bug me that much, I focused most of my attention on helping Rachael find her plastic eggs. The best thing about hanging around the perimeter was the opportunity to be privy to some interesting conversation like the three, blonde-haired, WASPy people who were talking about one of the neighborhoods that resides adjacent to ours.

Last year, they finished construction on a new tract of about 50 homes. These homes happened to be built by a company that has the reputation for building large houses out of cheap materials. These houses are kind of plain, are a bit low on the quality meter, and usually attract buyers who are the newest citizens to our fine country. They aren’t bad people, and definitely work harder than the plethora of pampered stay-at-home moms that reside in our tract, they are the kind of people who look at their kids every night and tell them how bad they had it in their country, therefore the kids need to study hard and get good grades so that they can get a computer science degree in college.

Apparently, one of the cliques here in Wisteria Lane doesn’t like the fact that this other neighborhood exists next to our pristine tract, because I overheard a woman telling her snooty counterparts that it was like having a trailer park next to us. What a miserable cunt! The houses may not be stellar quality, but those folks have the same mortgage as the rest of us. At that point, I told Rachael it was time to cash in her plastic eggs for a prize. I had had enough of the cold shoulders and shit attitudes, and I had no desire to let my daughter socialize with the children of such shallow parents. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned in life is that the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, and if these parents were elitist snobs, then their kids are probably going to be a little on the asshole side.

Jeff and I sat there eating our breakfast wondering why we had received such a cold reception. Maybe they didn’t like the fact that Jews were participating in their holiday, which is a completely ridiculous notion, since not even the most devout Christian can tell me how Jesus and bunnies are related. Perhaps they didn’t care for our lack of participation in the prominent social circle that seems to dominate the neighborhood activities. Jeff and I usually go to everything, but neither one of us are fake people, so if we don’t like something, we say so. Maybe they are still mad that we purchased the house that their friends used to live in, and despite the fact that those people only lived here for 4 ½ months, and that they moved nearly two years ago, some people still aren’t over it.

In the end, Rachael got her little present, and a handful of candy, Fozzy got a nice walk and managed to pick a fight with a Corgi, I got to return the glare of that freaky bitch, and Jeff came to the conclusion that I was no longer going to waste any of my time planning events for the neighborhood committee.