Maybe it’s presumptuous of me to assume that not many of you missed this – but recently, it was Easter. And like many other quasi-heathen non-God-fearing Swedes out there, I took the opportunity of this Christian tradition and its off-workness; and got drunk in the company of my (grown-up) family at 3 PM on Easter Eve after already having 1½ days off of work.
Along with singing songs and downing spiced booze one milliliter at a time, we ate pie and then the classic Swedish princess cake with the only holiday-difference that the marzipan was dyed yellow instead of green. Entangled with the eating and the drinking was talking about life and its mysteries, and getting to take part in my father and my boyfriend getting along very well. After the intense eight hour family dinner, I ventured on to another gathering that plied me with Dragon’s Blood (which is the onomatopoeic version of “Oh God what did I do last night?”) and I got to talk loudly about ancient monuments with a person that was actually interested!
Spot the Fireball and the hand of future regret
Later on, much like the miracle of Jesus, I succumbed to the celebrations (being drunk sometimes is my cross to carry) at half past three on Sunday morning after being out and about for thirteen hours, and came back to life on Sunday afternoon. Well, I wasn’t gone as long as Jesus, but hey, no one’s perfect. And, like a miracle; I wasn’t hungover when I woke up! If that’s not a sign I celebrated the right way, I don’t know what is.
A little more than “lagom” level of celebration, I’d say!