my fuWWy wabbit
of course I had a loyal and loving companion when I was a child. My Wabbit was always there for me. He was sweet and fuwwy, understanding, uncritical. He waited when I was at school, he hid when Others insisted I was too big to carry him around, and when I reached high school, I disguised him as part of the "decor" in my room, which was easy, since before the days of TV-team interventions on the rooms of teenagers, parents just closed their eyes and gritted their teeth. They certainly didn't venture to hunt for Wabbits that they thought had long been outgrown.
A Wabbit doesn't care if you didn't finish your book report, he knows you were just being too polite to say what you really thought about Silas Marner and thinks the teacher ought to be grateful you didn't write about Silas Mariner.
The very closest Anthropologie to me looks like it was once the ballroom of a small catering operation, there's a "not much" entry, if you go one way you wind up in a small room full of crockery and sale racks, and if you go the other way you confront a curved open staircase, which takes you way way down into the main selling area. There are some little niches along the way, and then I saw them - a whole basket of WABBITS. Lovely fuwwy wabbits. I picked one up, he snuggled up under my chin and into my neck. I couldn't put him down.
I didn't. He came home with me. He will live in a basket in my closet, and remind me that no matter how bleak and dreary the outlook, love can come unexpectedly and joyfully, and joy can come lovingly and hopefully.
And so I wound up buying two Wabbits, so my Wabbit wouldn't be lonely. Since we all know what happens when you have more than one Wabbit, I'm hoping there will be enough Wabbits to share with young visitors when they come to play. Love and Wabbits should be shared. And if you have a moment when you think noone is listening, hold a Wabbit and listen later.
Tell me about the Wabbits in your life.