Rabbit’s Revenge, Redux: In Which Everyone In A Comedian

Every Easter, as devoted readers of this blog know, it is my regular ritual to tell a story. Not the Passover tale, oh no. Not the Resurrection. No, Easter on this blog is the occasion for the retelling of the Rabbit Horror of My Childhood. For the uninitiated, a quick click here will reveal the full, original version of the story. For those averse to clicking, the short version goes like so: When I was a very small child, my parents hid a GIANT inflatable Easter Bunny in a coat closet. When I unexpectedly opened that closet in search of hidden Easter eggs, the horrid thing jumped out and tackled me (it had been wedged in tightly against the coats — Dad was in a hurry). While my parents — who are lovely people, please don’t get me wrong — were naturally sympathetic to my horror and distress at being bum-rushed by a blow-up bunny, it was also undeniably the funniest thing they had seen all year. They reacted accordingly.

Påskekort ca. 1907 / Easter Card ca. 1907
This kid has the right idea. Hold the lapine marauder hostage with weaponized eggs.

Of course, as I’ve been telling this story with some regularity for a few years now, my parents have decided that they need to get in on the act, reclaiming a bit of their own voice in the proceedings and taking a bit of the piss out of my retelling. My mother, for example, has developed a recurring gag using ever-larger greeting cards. Here is this year’s addition to the Ginormous Rabbit Card Collection, again pictured next to a terrier for scale:

Henry is not at all sure that sitting next to that thing is a good idea. Henry is the smartest of my dogs.

Usually, Dad and I laugh a bit about the story (he laughs a bit harder than I do…) and think nothing more of it. He is not usually as…creative, I suppose, about the subtler forms of revenge humor as Mom is. Much of the grandparental energy nowadays, after all, is devoted to my wee nephew, who was the happy recipient of candy, glowy egg things (don’t ask), and gleeful, funny, noticeably little surprises from his elders this morning. Lucky little punk.

It was photos of said nephew, sent out to us all via The Magic of Social Media, that prompted Dad to remember that this year he had actually tried (and failed, thankfully) to find another giant inflatable bunny to send to me. He called me about an hour ago to tell me so, and we laughed and laughed and laughed…

HE WAS GOING TO DO IT AGAIN.

Jerk.


Black-and-white photo — an Easter card, c. 1907 — courtesy of the National Library of Norway’s Flickr stream

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About L. M. Bernhardt

Deaccessioned philosopher. Occasional Musician. Academic librarian, in original dust jacket. Working to keep my dogs in the lavish manner to which they have become accustomed.
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