It’s a long story but I’ll try to make it brief. Despite being secretive about my travel plans, C.W. got wind and followed me to Cincinnati. Before I had noticed, he had assumed a form familiar to my hosts and charmed the lady of the house, whom we shall call St. Rose.
“She’s much nicer than Mrs. Big Dope,” he said. “We’re already good friends.”
“That’s only because,” I said, “you have assumed the form of a friend of hers.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “She’s nice to me.”
“You’ll think ‘nice,’ if you cross her,” I said. “Ask her husband.”
“Oh no,” he said. “She trusts me.”
“To do what?”
“Oh,” he said, “she’s having all of her children and grandchildren and their cousins over for Easter celebration and she asked me to be the child’s image of a young rabbit for the day of Easter.”
“You mean she asked you to be the Easter Bunny?”
“That’s exactly what I said.”
“Not exactly,” I said. “But does she know how unreliable you are?”
“I’m not unreliable,” he said. “I just enjoy a paradigm of spontaneity.”
“You got that right.” I said. “Good luck.”
“Who needs luck when one has friends like mine?” He said.
“Aaah,” I said.
I went about my own business, practicing my Photoshop and such. Things were quiet for an hour or so. Then I heard a glass crash and the sound of scurrying at the top of the stairs. A female voice cried out, “Are you kidding me?”
Then I heard C.W. say, “What?
|When she said, "Be the Bunny, I thought she|
said to be funny. It was a simple mistake. - C.W
“Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“I’m counting to three,” she said, “and you had better be gone by then.”
“Who’ll hide the eggs?” he said.
“I’ll hide you,” she said. “Out.”
By this time, I was curious and walked around the corner. I would tell you what I saw, but, like the boy who fell into the tub of molasses, I don’t think my tongue would be equal to the task.
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