Easter Egg Stupor

When I was a child, my family spent many Easters in London. It was a quick hop away from where we were living in Germany, and we would rent a flat from my father's cousin's ex-husband's sister. Seriously.

I loved these trips and looked forward to them tremendously. The atmosphere, the shows, the people, but mostly, the Easter eggs.

There is nothing quite like Easter in England. When I booked a trip to England last month, my first thought was, "Yay, family! (of course;)", but quick on its heels, I thought, "OMG, the EASTER EGGS!!"

I present Exhibit A:


No, your eyes don't deceive you. Those are indeed Easter eggs as far as the eye can see. Sigh.

And Exhibit B:


Yes, that box of chocolate is bigger than my head.

Honestly eggs stretching off into the horizon are practically NSFW for the dreamy stupor it induces in me. I can't think in the face of such confectionery paradise.

Why oh why has this kind of chocolatey madness never made it over here? I know that fancy shops like Lindt and Godiva and Vosges and Jacques Torres and Bissingers go bananas at Easter with solid chicks and Easter baskets and egg-shaped truffles, but I never feel the same about those fancy gourmet confections as I did about good old enormous chocolate eggs filled with Smarties or Maltesers or Crunchies or Buttons.

Just as well I had a chance to stock up this year.