The eternal question

If you believe newspaper ads, the most important tradition of the Easter holiday is dressing up.
We all know, though advertisers won’t say it, that the dressing up is for Sunday church services. If you’re gonna celebrate the resurrection of your lord and savior, you might as well do it in a new outfit.
Besides, anyone with little boys knows you wouldn’t attempt to dress them up just to sit around at Grandma’s house unless they are having their picture taken or they’ve just come from church.
There is a special stress associated with buying Easter clothes, however. Well, it’s stressful for women. We’re the ones who maintain these holiday traditions. If there were only men on this planet, holiday greetings would consist of one guy looking at the other between March Madness games and saying, “Isn’t Easter coming up?”
In fact, if men got to choose, the Fourth of July would be the biggest holiday of the year because of the potential involvement of fire.
Still, most men don’t appreciate the role of Easter clothes: They announce the departure of winter drab and bulk and the arrival of breezy, springlike colors and fabrics. We are reunited with white and linen and all the other forbidden fruits we stored away for winter.
Shopping for Easter clothes is wearisome, though, because you can’t predict the Easter weather. Weather matters more on certain holidays because it sets the mood. My mom actually gets mad if the forecast says “60s and partly cloudy” the third week of November. And what kid wants to wear his winter coat over his Halloween costume?
Likewise, the ideal Easter weather would be like when Dorothy steps from the black-and-white farmhouse into Munchkinland for the first time –bright and sunny with flowers blooming and little people frolicking about.
What ruins the shopping trip is that sometimes Easter falls in March and sometimes in April. Up North, like in mid-Michigan, you can bet that it will be in the 40s or colder on Easter. But in Tennessee, we sometimes get a warmer Easter, so much so that chocolate candy has been banned from the last few egg hunts I’ve chaperoned. It melts in the egg and in your hand.
But here we are, looking at a high in the 50s, which sucks the fun out of the strappy high heels and summery sundresses at Dillards. Even if you do find a dress that comes with a cardigan, the sweater will be silk, and you’ll still be shivering during your in-laws’ egg hunt. And stiletto heels are no good in the mud.
I don’t think Jesus would have cared, though, since he wore sandals year round anyway.