BUNNY, HONEY

        Look at this mirror from Maisonee! It's French, which means it's the fanciest of all goods, and I must attain it! I've always wanted to speak French. Truth be told, sometimes I pretend I can and apathetically throw out ballet terms in a high pitched tone. And now, onto a more important point:

       

        I'm a fan of all things bunny. Bunny rhymes with funny which is simply fate because I, unlike everyone else in this world, happen to also be a fan of all things funny. My findings show no logical linkage between the two, so we'll stick with bunnies for this (cue Whitney Houston) "one moment in time". When I was little my mother used to populate my room with SCORES of bunnies. Mostly stuffed, these certain bunnies were like Laura Ashley, floral printed, country store type bunnies, super unlike the bad ass ones I covet these days. I remember counting them once, and I recall reaching a grand total of nine?

        For a small space, that was nine too many bunnies cramping my childhood style. At one point I began to resent them and their beady eyes watching my every move. They also accumulated an enormous amount of dust. Surely that has nothing to do with their animal orientation, but when you're young you're allowed to think whatever the eff you want. KIDZ RULEZ, NUMBER ONE. I despised those fat rodents save for one that I received from a distant relative on my father's side of the family. This plush rabbit's name was Rascall and he was suited in a polka dot vest and bow tie! Later on in my life I would have a brief stint where this type of garb would be adorned by those who I considered "my type". Just a little bit later on in life I would realize that "my type" was gay. I'm going to stray from the psychological discussion on how Rascall influenced my affinity for the homosexual community, but I'd be willing to discuss it privately if you, in particular, are interested.

        I don't view bunnies as some sort of homage to my childhood, like I'm trying to hold onto a part of my distant past. That's not it, at all. I'll compare my bunny love to riding a bike (standard comparison). I just kind of picked up again what was once familiar. I also think as one gets older you have to start thinking about what type of figurines you're going to populate your single old lady/man home with. Well, that's super depressing. At least I'll be able to transfer into this stage of my life seamlessly knowing that miniature porcelain bunnies is the way I'm going. Yikes. Okay, I'm officially ruling this stage out of my life in exchange for a hilarious bearded husband and an enormous island in the kitchen? YOU GOT IT.