When our family lived in apartments, I was extremely jealous of the house-dwellers in their master-planned communities with their master-planned community events. Not content to simply go trick-or-treating at the mall with the rest of the huddled masses, I started to sneak into communities where I knew I wouldn’t be found out as a plebian; with some neighborhoods in Texas boasting close to 1000 homes in a single subdivision, I would choose the later phases and dare anybody to ask me my address. (Something Something Ranch Drive. There’s one in every neighborhood)
Unfortunately, I must not have been the only one with this idea because the day I tried to show up for an egg hunt, there was a registration tent where you had to show a utility bill to prove that you lived there. So I had to wait until we moved into the ‘burbs to finally do an egg hunt that didn’t convene at a Jamba Juice kiosk. Far from being what I always dreamed of, the neighborhood egg hunt is actually a window straight into the black heart of man.