My wife loves me.
I want to tell you that right up front, because based on what you’re about to read, you’re going to question it. You’ll think that your pastor blogger friend needs immediate marriage counseling and/or a protective order, and it just ain’t so. She loves me. I’m confident she does.
At least…I’m pretty sure.
Merriem is a preschool teacher, and at their preschool they have “secret pals.” That’s a term that means “additional frou-frou items often containing polka dots show up at my house every few weeks.” The way it works is: at the beginning of the year all the teachers draw names, and then several times throughout the year they leave gifts. In my wife’s case, it’s usually pink, and it’s usually fraught with polka dots, because that’s how she rolls.
But this week I believe her secret pal has exhausted her supply of polka dotted things, because this week I was minding my own business, watching a little TV, when I noticed this…this thing staring at me from a pink Eastery arrangement in our living room:
This is the latest acquisition in our Secret Pal Gift Archive. But it’s an evil acquisition. Look at the eyes on that rabbit. It’s evil, I tell you. And it creeps me out. I’m scared of this rabbit the way that Jason Gaston is scared of pregnant women or Brad O’Brien is scared of midget clowns or J.D. Greear is scared of preaching a sermon without a C.S. Lewis quote.
This is not a rabbit that celebrates the resurrection of Jesus (good grief, I can’t believe I just typed that sentence). No, this is a rabbit from the underworld. A rabbit that was a product of the fall. A rabbit that was spawned from hades itself in order to wreak havoc on my family.
This is a bad bunny.
My bride – whom I am fairly certain loves me – does not see it this way. And she’s absolutely delighted that I’m scared of this hare. She thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world that I can no longer walk through our living room because I’m afraid this fuzzy portal of evil is going to leap from it’s perch and use my jugular vein as a drinking straw.
Which is why – and again, I want you to know that I have a decent amount of confidence that there are no major issues in our marriage – I was rather distraught when I went to bed the other night, pulled back the blanket, and found this sitting on my pillow:
That’s correct: the wife of my youth – who quite possibly doesn’t hate me – planted the zombunnie right where it would stare up at me before I tried to drift off to sleep.
You’re right. We need counseling. She’s out to get me. And I’ll tell her that as soon as I get brave enough to go back to my house, because that rabbit is waiting on me.