Taylor Swift Imagines

9|Easter Sunday With The Swifts

Imagine being Taylor's neighbour and you decided to spend time with her during Easter. 

You loved Easter Sunday because your family had a tradition with the Swifts. It was called the extreme egg hunt. Seventeen perfectly painted eggs were scattered around the house. You usually played this game with your cousins, siblings and the swifts. For the straight three weeks, you and Taylor would win the game. One, because you were both so competitive that your families didn't like to choose between the both of you.

"Get ready, take baskets, run!" Mama Swift screamed as you ran around the house finding already three eggs. You looked for more and found the spots. Out of nowhere, Taylor ran to your spot and you tackled her down to the ground.

"What did you do that for?" She asked, laughing. It was funny to her that you went to this extent. Last year, Taylor tickled you to the point that you had to go to the restroom because you were sure that your bladder explode. You both lost for cheating but won for the passion you gave in this really really childish game.

"That's payback, Swift." You say holding on to the last very decorated egg.

"But you won last year!" She whined, fixing her blond curls out of her face. You always told her that you loved her hair the way it was when she was younger. She doesn't believe you but you try to tell her all the time. So eventually, she let it down just for you stop mentioning it.

"Times over, show me your eggs!" Papa Swift says.

Once all the eggs were counted. It came to the conclusion that no one won. On the way here, Austin tripped crashing all his eggs. Taylor was behind him so she tripped too. You were behind Taylor so you fell over too. It was so funny because you were all on the ground laughing so hard. Tears were in your eyes and in Taylor's. This was the reason why you always did this. It was always fun.

"Dinner anyone?" Taylor asks from the kitchen, holding to a perfectly cooked roasted turkey. She makes the best meals. If she stopped singing, she could be a model or a cook or a guidance counsellor or a teacher or my mom or a model or writer or a cook or a businesswoman or my mom or my mom. She can really be anything.