Through a weird set of circumstances late Friday night, HH and I came into possession of a 6-month-old male bunny, whom we have dubbed “Thumper.” Like all new mothers, I am anxious to check on my fuzzy little charge.
“I better get up and check on the bunny,” I say.
HH snuggles into his pillow and pulls the sheet tight up to his chin. He sniffs. “All you care about is your new bunny,” he says with just a hint of a pout.
“Hey, it was your idea,” I say, and for once this is true. HH has had rabbit fever for the past three years, though he likes to put on a brave front and will deny it if pressed. It’s a guy thing.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, but his closed eyes crease in a secret smile.
“Whatever,” I say, tweaking his whiskery chin and forcing a smile. “You know you’re the one who had me email the guy who was giving him away…”
“I have no recollection of such an event.” HH has a remarkable gift of selective memory.
“Really.” I am not convinced. But then, we both know HH has spent the past two weeks scouring the internet for bunnies and reminding me how much we need one.
“I do have a vague recollection of someone plying me with wine and wrestling me into submission over the bunny issue.”
This is a patent lie. There was absolutely no wrestling involved.
“Mm hmm. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” I swing my legs out of bed and reach for my robe. “You know you love our little fur-baby.”
“Maybe,” he grudgingly admits, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me back down beside him. “But it’s too early to get up,” he grouses. “All you think about is your little fur-baby.”
“True, true,” I say, snuggling back under his chin. “But duty calls.”
“Hmph,” he says, clearly unimpressed with my priorities.. “Just don’t forget about your big fur-baby.”
I chuckle softly at the impossibility of such a notion.
Big fur-baby, indeed…
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