TUESDAY 2: Hygiene and Bunny Rabbits
My hair is greasy. I haven’t washed it for three days. And while I’m here over-sharing my lack of hygiene, I might as well mention... I have only worn one real pair of actual pants since Saturday. I’m told pajamas are not appropriate attire for things like yard work or running. Though at this point, I wonder if maybe the neighbors are bored? Perhaps if I were to go out for my morning run clad in flannel pajama pants, my ratty old cardigan, and greasy hair, I would provide these people who live around me with something different to talk about. Maybe liven things up a bit? I can't imagine anything providing juicer gossip possibility than the sudden appearance of the lady from down the street, all disheveled in her pajamas. Running, no less... and in the middle of a statewide pandemic lockdown.
Back when we lived in Maine, D and I thought it would be a fabulous idea to buy an Easter Bunny costume and walk through our yard dropping pastel, candy-stuffed eggs on the lawn. Together, we giggled, conjuring images of sheer delight washing over our children’s faces as this enormous Easter Bunny gleefully hopped past the french doors during breakfast. Easter morning will be magical, we said.
What actually happened was, the Easter Bunny (D) emerged from the tall grass at the edge of our lawn and son, in an ADHD fueled mania, proceeded to embark on a high speed chase. Thankfully, this was back when D was running marathons on the regular, because that kid was fast. G stood on the patio, red faced and crying because while fleeing, the Easter Bunny threw eggs at her. K dove under the breakfast table. She hid there, emitting a series of piercing screams while our suddenly rabid-looking dog repeatedly threw itself against the glass door. Clearly some latent instinct kicked in, because it was intent upon killing the world's biggest rabbit running circles around the house.
I’m not sure what the neighbors thought. Though their houses were a bit spread out from ours, there was at least one family who gave us a wide berth after that first Easter. Clearly, they were more civilized that we are. I bet they're glad we moved away.
Here, our neighbors are much closer in proximity and slightly more conservative than they were in Maine. Also, the kids have reached that developmental stage where if I do anything in their presence beyond breathing, I am subjecting them to public mortification. Maybe they’re still pissed about that Easter Bunny.
This morning I went looking for the costume. I know the head was floating around in the basement for the first few years after we moved to this house. At some point, a couple of years back, one of the kids was nosing through unpacked boxes and found it. After the initial shock of finding that terrifying dead-eyed head nestled among forgotten riffraff and realizing it had followed us, they put two and two together. Our secret was revealed. Sadly, D informs me the Easter Bunny costume was dropped off at our dump’s “Mall” after last year’s spring cleaning. I guess it was time.
Today, I wound up just taking a run. Not in a bunny suit, or my ratty cardigan or my flannel PJ’s like a crazy woman. Just a regular old run with my greasy hair and serious need of a shower.
Back when we lived in Maine, D and I thought it would be a fabulous idea to buy an Easter Bunny costume and walk through our yard dropping pastel, candy-stuffed eggs on the lawn. Together, we giggled, conjuring images of sheer delight washing over our children’s faces as this enormous Easter Bunny gleefully hopped past the french doors during breakfast. Easter morning will be magical, we said.
What actually happened was, the Easter Bunny (D) emerged from the tall grass at the edge of our lawn and son, in an ADHD fueled mania, proceeded to embark on a high speed chase. Thankfully, this was back when D was running marathons on the regular, because that kid was fast. G stood on the patio, red faced and crying because while fleeing, the Easter Bunny threw eggs at her. K dove under the breakfast table. She hid there, emitting a series of piercing screams while our suddenly rabid-looking dog repeatedly threw itself against the glass door. Clearly some latent instinct kicked in, because it was intent upon killing the world's biggest rabbit running circles around the house.
I’m not sure what the neighbors thought. Though their houses were a bit spread out from ours, there was at least one family who gave us a wide berth after that first Easter. Clearly, they were more civilized that we are. I bet they're glad we moved away.
Here, our neighbors are much closer in proximity and slightly more conservative than they were in Maine. Also, the kids have reached that developmental stage where if I do anything in their presence beyond breathing, I am subjecting them to public mortification. Maybe they’re still pissed about that Easter Bunny.
This morning I went looking for the costume. I know the head was floating around in the basement for the first few years after we moved to this house. At some point, a couple of years back, one of the kids was nosing through unpacked boxes and found it. After the initial shock of finding that terrifying dead-eyed head nestled among forgotten riffraff and realizing it had followed us, they put two and two together. Our secret was revealed. Sadly, D informs me the Easter Bunny costume was dropped off at our dump’s “Mall” after last year’s spring cleaning. I guess it was time.
Today, I wound up just taking a run. Not in a bunny suit, or my ratty cardigan or my flannel PJ’s like a crazy woman. Just a regular old run with my greasy hair and serious need of a shower.
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