When I was young and slightly more adorable than I am today, at Eastertime my mother would write little rhyming clues on pieces of paper, fold them carefully inside an Easter egg that would lead to another egg, which would lead to another egg, which is essentially the exact plot of the movie National Treasure. Generally, there was less Jon Voight.

Ultimately my journey would lead me to the bathroom where a basket of candy would be waiting for me. Not exactly the most sanitary discovery, but I devoured everything anyway, choking frequently on fake grass because I ate candy like Garfield ate lasagna. It’s probably not a coincidence that when I eat a basket of candy today I do it crying in a bathtub.

Despite these fond, not-at-all-weird memories, there are some aspects of the holiday I take issue with.

Peeps: fluffy jerks

Peeps are marshmallow disasters masquerading as innocent wildlife snacks. The first and only time I bit into a Peep as a child all of my teeth fell out simultaneously.

This might not be true but I do question why anyone would give a child this to put in their mouth. You might as well give them a mouthful of honeybees. My toddler smuggled some in from school last year and as it turns out you can’t drop children off at juvenile hall for that. He left one on the stairs and it was the single most terrifying thing I had ever seen. I reacted exactly like cats on YouTube videos when surprised with cucumbers.

It’s widely known that Peeps:

• Watch you while you’re sleeping

• Actively campaign for gingivitis

• Don’t care whether it’s your birthday

• Cause divorce

• Tell the lame “ghost story” about the guy with the hook

• Think Daniel Day-Lewis is overrated

• Are in favor of gerrymandering

• Still think it’s cool to have a MySpace account

• Were the inspiration for Bella in the Twilight series

• Are members of the Cobra Kai dojo

• Love telling you how much better the book was vs. the movie you just saw

• Hate your new haircut

Peeps are frequently sold in packs of 12. There were 12 plagues of Egypt. This is not a coincidence.

Colored eggs: restricting creativity and slightly racist

The term “colored eggs” always makes me feel uncomfortable. Sure, if your grandpa says it you can let it go, but anyone under the age of 60 and it just sounds hateful. I prefer “Eggs of Color.”

I always THOUGHT Eggs of Color were a lot of fun. Starting out white, they are a blank canvas with which to express yourself. Unless, apparently, you wish to step outside of the box and do something OTHER than poka dots and zig-zags and instead take two and decorate them like a portion of a woman’s anatomy while at your mother-in-law’s house. Then all of a sudden you’re “inappropriate” and “what would Jesus say?” Jesus would say, “Way to express yourself, buckaroo.” It’s a fact. Look it up.

Easter Bunny (idea of): praying to amorous Teutonic rabbit God

According to Research, the Easter bunny is based on the Teutonic deity Eostra, the goddess of spring and fertility. Her symbol was the rabbit because of the animal’s high reproduction rate.

Frankly, I don’t think fertility needs worshipping. Judging by the vegetable-eating contests annually held in my garden during the summer, rabbits do quite well on their own. The same could be said for humans. I mean, have you seen us lately? We’re doing pretty well in the fertility department.

But I’m generally in favor of randomness, though, so I approve of this weird holiday mascot. If only the Supreme Court would listen to my petition to get a gavel-laying platypus the official representative of the 4th of July.

Easter Bunny (real, full-sized at the mall): child motivator

If your goal is to terrorize children and expose them to post-traumatic stress syndrome at an early age, giving your child over to a six-foot unblinking upright mute rabbit is an excellent way to ensure the prospect of future Easters will cause a nervous tic. The good news is, if they refuse to pick up their toys you can always threaten to go see him again.

Bonus: when they’re crying with terror in their room the basket of chocolate Easter treats is undefended.

Hollow chocolate bunnies: scam candy that make you empty inside

Biting into a chocolate bunny you didn’t know was hollow is like paying top dollar for excellent seats at a Broadway production of Les Misérables, taking your seat and when the curtain goes up it’s a couple of first graders attempting to play Jean Valjean and Javert by making fart noises with their armpits.

When I bite into one of these scam treats I feel exactly how those people felt who were victimized by Bernie Madoff. It’s high time these manufacturers were held accountable for their actions. Chocolate bunnies should be filled with chocolate, not lies.

Pastel colors: narcissistic and making me question my sexuality

Stop it. Just stop it, pastel. I could be on one of my fierce masculine tirades FOR A GOOD REASON (like I’m out of bugles to put on my fingers) and somebody could show me a pastel periwinkle swatch and it would instantly calm me down against my wishes. Pastel, you’re the Kenny G of the color spectrum and that is NOT a compliment.

Look, for 11 months I live my life like I want but when Easter rolls around HERE YOU COME rolling up like you’re a long-lost father I haven’t seen in 30 years wanting to take me to a baseball game. Where WERE you? You think you can just show up here and act like you’ve been part of the family the whole time?

Guess what, pastel; I’M NOT FALLING FOR IT.

I don’t know who said you could own Easter but I’m looking into the matter. This isn’t over.

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Kelly Van De Walle can be reached at vandkel@hotmail.com.