Bunny: Breaking and Entering
I was a strange child. I’m perfectly willing to admit that right off the bat. So it should come as no surprise that Easter weekends always made me very nervous.
Yes, Easter is usually a joyful holiday, filled with the smiles and laughter of children. But those are normal children. I was pretty much a complete wreck starting on Good Friday. Why? Because it seemed to be widely accepted that at some point during the weekend, an unsupervised animal was going to be entering all of our homes while we slept.
My parents thought it was cute. “The Easter Bunny is coming tonight!!!”
Oh yippee. Seriously? Was no one else bothered by the fact that rabbits generally left a plethora of pellets and saw dust in their wake, and spent much of their time chewing through electric cords?
I was just a kid. It wasn’t my house, so I really couldn’t do much about it. I wasn’t able to alert the authorities, because I wasn’t even tall enough to reach the big yellow phone hanging on the kitchen wall. And yeah, let’s face it, there was always something in it for me (candy, stuffed animals, toys). So I was slightly hesitant to go so far as to actively rat the Bunny out. But I was really mystified by my parents’ lack of concern in the face of an impending home invasion.
Hey, my dad wouldn’t even let the dog in the house! But a wild bunny? Nooooo problem.
I think my folks always assumed I looked exhausted on Easter morning because I had been too excited to sleep. No. I had been awake all night with worry:
How did the Bunny get in? Did we leave the door unlocked all night? Did that also put us at risk from copy-cat criminals? How much time did the Bunny spend in the house? Did he go through our stuff? Would he chew up the edges of the National Geographics that seemed to multiply in the living room like, well…like rabbits? Did he ever bite people? Did he have all of his shots? WHAT WAS GOING ON, and why did everybody blindly accept this crazy annual Bunny B&E, except for me?
Oh yeah…because I was a strange child.
So by Easter morning I was an overwrought, sleepless mess who basically needed the massive infusion of sugar contained in the Bunny’s basket just to get going. A quick check of the electric cords and the National Geographics eased my mind a bit. Okay. Breathe. Everything’s okay. We apparently dodged a bullet this time. I can put my bunny worries to rest.
Until next year.
And don’t even get me started on Santa.