By: Ann Brown
(This story follows “The Very Hungry Menopausal Woman” from an earlier blog post.)
Once there was a Mommy who said to her little bunny, “You are bugging the fuck outta me. I am going to run away to the bathroom and lock the door.”
And the little bunny said, “If you run away and lock the door, I will use the wine bottle opener you keep hidden in your nightstand to jimmy the lock and get you!”
And the Mommy said, “If you use the wine bottle opener to jimmy the lock and get me, I will pretend to hug you but really I will run to the white couch in the living room where you are not allowed.”
The bunny said, “If you run to the white couch in the living room where I am not allowed, I will put grape juice in my Battle Blaster water gun and stand at the baby gate and spray the untreated couch – and you- with juice. Which will stain. Game on.”
The Mommy betrayed a flicker of horror in her eyes before answering, “If you blast me with grape juice when I am on the white couch which, just btw, is the ONLY thing in this house that lets me feel like I am an adult, then I will grab my keys and lock myself in the minivan.”
The bunny giggled and then grew serious. “If you lock yourself in the minivan, I will use the remote opener in the kitchen and get in there with you. I mean, really? You don’t remember we have a remote for the minivan? It’s a fucking minivan, for God’s sake. The whole point was so people cannot get locked in there. At least make this interesting, Mommy.”
The Mommy put her hand in the pocket of her JJill linen cargo pants to feel the comforting outline of the pack of Virginia Slims she hid in there. Good. A full pack. She let out a slow breath and smiled. “Please. Good luck. I took the batteries out of that remote months ago.”
“For my vibrator”, she added silently.
“Why are you smiling?” demanded the Bunny.
“No reason,” his Mommy said, thinking about the vibrator and a full pack of cigs waiting for her after Bunny went to bed tonight. She remembered that she had a half a bottle of raspberry vodka in the freezer, as well. Oh, and THE GOOD WIFE was on tonight. Sweet.
“Keep playing this game with me!” The Bunny stomped his foot.
“Okay,” said the Mommy, counting the hours until his bedtime, “Where were we?”
“I just found you in the minivan.” Bunny said.
“Right. If you find me in the minivan, I will throw your blue Binky out the window and when you jump out to get it, I will drive away and go to my Yoga class. Where little bunnies are not allowed.” Hah, she thought.
“If you go to your Yoga class, I will follow you there and pretend I am a grownup and put my mat right next to yours!” Hah, Bunny thought.
“Then I will switch to the Bikram class where the temperature in the room is 110 degrees,” Mommy said, “You won’t like that. Because of your thick fur and all. You will be so hot, you will run out of there and never come back.”
“Well, duh, so will you!” Bunny couldn’t believe what a boob his Mommy was. He wondered briefly if Daddy and Mommy were first cousins.
The Mommy looked at her little Bunny and spoke clearly. “No I won’t,” she said, “because I am a human being. You are a bunny. Not a real person. Not even a real rabbit. You are just a story. You don’t exist.”
The Bunny touched his Mommy’s arm gently. “Or do I?”
Mommy hung her head. “I know. Okay. Yes. You are real. You are my bunny. I just needed to fantasize getting the hell outta my life for a minute.”
Bunny hugged his Mommy and buried his head in her hair.
“Gross,” he said, “your hair smells like boogers.”
Mommy sighed her long-suffering sigh and reminded herself that he was just a little Bunny, after all, and hadn’t yet learned the niceties of conversation. She held him close.
“Also,” he said, “your tummy is really fat.”