So I spent all day today convinced it was Easter Sunday. The very nice hostess at the Burritt Room, where we had a fabulous early dinner, confirmed that I was a week early. On the up side, she convinced us to come back next Sunday (which claims to actually be the day) for brunch. Bottomless mimosas to celebrate the horrific torture and murder of a Jewish prophet and his sort-of-scary zombie path to holiness! All right!
What makes this annoying (aside from the possibility I have lost what little mind I ever had) is the fact that I am one of the very few people who can rattle off how the date Easter falls on is determined. The very same church which refused my ultra fabulous campaign for ultra fabulous popester created a bizarre formula for Easter while they were struggling for the hearts and minds of heathens. Since the heathens were reluctant to give up their holidays, the church just absorbed them and turned them into ecumenical holy days or feasts. Thus Easter is a moveable feast because it changes each year.
Calculating the date has its own name, "Computus" and here's how it works: Easter is the first Sunday after the first full moon following the Spring Equinox. There was probably something about sacrificing a goat when it was still heathen property, but that didn't make it past the Jewish Passover. The name "Easter" comes from a pre-christian goddess names Oestrus, which also lent itself to the biology term estrus for when Ladies can make babies out of their eggs.
Paganism: the church is stuffed with it.
I can also name all seven dwarves by memory.