You would have known.

You know the chocolate bunnies you get on Easter?  A solid pound of milk chocolate.  And the day after you get at least ten more because they’re on sale for fifty percent off.

That first one is always the best though, right?

You open it right away, being the impatient child you are at heart.  First the box.  Annoyingly difficult because of how impatient you are.  Probably taped for no apparent reason.  Then that awful plastic shell covering it, again, pointless if you ask any child.  At last, the foil.  Colored to perfection with pastel greens and pinks and blues.  Not one design flaw on that foil because that’s the only part that really matters.  That’s what catches the consumer’s eye.  Not the box with useless information about the product.  Not the plastic protector.  It’s the colored foil that sells the bunny, and it’s the colored foil that you tear to shreds.  The final step to the glorious holiday sugar rush.  

Foil pieces covering at least one square foot immediately in front of you.  To an outsider, you probably look certifiable.  Let’s call it insanely happy for now.  You glance around to make sure no one’s actually looking at you make a fool of yourself at the age of… whatever is considered an adult nowadays… and you realize that you could not care less.  

That bunny is in your hand.  Perfectly (or imperfectly) unwrapped.  The savage inside of you is exposed along with the ears of the innocent chocolate bunny, and you bite ferociously.

It is in that moment that you feel your teeth clash an instant too soon.  Shocked, you look down to see the delicious chocolate crumbling to pieces, but the pain you feel isn’t in your mouth.  The pain is in your heart.

The chocolate bunny was hollow.  

If you had read the box, had slowed down, taken the time to gather all the necessary information, maybe decided that the calories weren’t worth it in the first place… you would have known.

You would have known that the bunny was hollow.