“Forget those things that aren't worth remembering.”

- Tim Foley

Happy Easter, everyone.

I have always had mixed emotion in regard to this holiday. Like most I get overjoyed in the morning to find a basket filled with treats, but I also feel a bit sad as the day progresses.

I think it all boils down to the bunny.

You have to understand, I get that solid chocolate rabbit in my hands and I immediately bite its ears off.

Now I'm not a big fan of sweets, so as soon as I have my sugar fix I set it down on the table and begin to go about my day.

As I pass by my now-hearing-impaired holiday present, I start to feel bad that I have turned this once cute piece of confection into what appears to be the victim of a hunting trip gone terribly wrong.

So what do I do? I bite its face off so at least it won't be able to stare at me anymore. And then I feel even worse.

Aside from my crime against candy I always look at Easter as my official start to spring.

This, of course, leads to that perennial of tasks: spring cleaning.

Now, I keep my house pretty spotless - not because I'm a neat freak, but because I'm lazy and hate to clean. I figure if I don't make any messes then I don't have to get out the vacuum as often. But there is a spot within me that is filled with clutter.

That space would be my own head. So today I am throwing out all the old jaded thoughts that have been lingering around for far too long.

If what follows makes no sense to you, just imagine what it's like to be me, having to carry this stuff around all the time.

Why is it that when people get on any public elevator they suddenly take the men's urinal approach to social etiquette: hands down, eyes up and absolutely no looking around.

Why do the announcers on the golf channel always whisper?

If a Satanist sneezes, do you still say “God bless you?”

I've learned the song. I watched the show. Will someone finally just tell me, how do you actually get to Sesame Street? They can teach you the alphabet and numbers but they seem to be lacking when it comes to giving out directions.

Is the true cause of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder the fact that the shampoo bottle clearly states lather, rinse, repeat?

If the ketchup at McDonalds is called Fancy Ketchup, does that mean the stuff I have in my fridge is crap?

Why is it that when the date on the milk carton matches the actual date we suddenly feel as if this is now poisonous milk?

I feel a bit better now that I'm done dusting out the ol' attic, so I guess it's time to finish off my bunny and then go postal on some Peeps.

Auburn native Bradley Molloy's column appears here, every

Sunday, in The Citizen.

He can be reached at lovonian@hotmail.com