The Bunny Suit: An Explanation.
The bunny suit was an accident or, rather, it wasn't something that I planned. But, once you own one, what is the point of having a big pink rabbit costume if you don't wear it?
So, the story. Once, long ago, a good friend invited me to the baby shower for his second child. I don't quite remember the rationale -- it was either Cooper wanted some testosterone to balance out the estrogen cloud which was going to fill his house that afternoon or he thought it would be a good way to get me out of the house and mingling with interesting people. He calls me at noon the day of the event and says, "Hey, baby shower. My house. 5pm. Drop by."
I didn't own a car at this time and the decision to navigate Seattle Metro to Cooper's house was not one to be taken lightly. There was a certain amount of planning that would be required. And, as such, there wouldn't be much time to accomplish any shopping.
Last minute invite notwithstanding, you can't just show up without a gift.
I paniced, got a card, and pasted my head over a piece of Easter Bunny clipart on the inside. The card became a coupon good for one visit from the Easter Bunny. When the kids were old enough to not be completely terrified by the sight of me showing up in a rabbit suit, I'd drop by one Easter and do the show-and-tell. Expiration date: 2000. I figured it was fun, it was charming, the single women at the shower would find it cute and endearing that I would actually consider embarassing myself while in a rabbit suit, and they would never actually collect.
Problem solved. Funny card, generate a little conversation, and squeak by without anyone noticing that I didn't really bring an actual gift. The whole thing went off pretty much as anticipated.
Time passes. I'm over for dinner one evening several years later, sitting in the living room, having a beer and we're yakking back and forth. My gaze travels across the room, slides over the items on the mantelpiece and I suddenly lose my train of thought. Cooper looks over his shoulder and starts laughing. The Easter Bunny card is still proudly displayed on the mantel. "We've got two years yet," he cackles. "Don't think you're getting out of it."
The following fall they move back east. I give them a year extension, figuring that the sight of a large man in a rabbit suit tracking across the lawn in their new neighborhood six months after they move in would probably scare the neighbors. Cooper even offers to buy my plane ticket if I wear the bunny suit during the flight. "Fine, whatever," I say. He's three thousand miles away. What's he going to do if I don't follow through? I make no plans to find a rabbit suit.
Winter, 2000. I'm getting married. Friends and family are gathered for the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding. Cooper is my best man which puts him in charge of the batchelor party. Which, in truth, was partially done to ensure his participation in the ceremony. Sure, kind of an asshole thing to do to a devoted family man three days before Christmas, but hey, I really wanted him to be there.
This is how payback works: As the dinner is winding down, Cooper stands up and gets everyone's attention. "It's time for the gentlemen to depart," he tells everyone solemnly. "And, in accordance with Mark's wishes, we won't be out all evening. We're just going to do a little 'bar hopping.' He says the last two words with a wicked gleam in his eye; he even puts the air quotes around the words. No one but me knows what is coming next and I barely get "Oh" and "shit" out before he thrusts his hands into a large paper sack and pulls out the rabbit suit.
The night before my wedding I spent the evening cavorting around Seattle dressed as a pink rabbit. People with cameras pursued me.
I got to keep the suit. The following Easter was the extension year and I didn't get on a plane. But I did send him an Easter card -- a short video of me in the rabbit suit with placards wishing the boys a happy bunny day. Scared one of his boys too. Must have been that crazed gleam in my eye as I pranced towards the camera.
The suit hangs downstairs next to my wife's wedding dress. It's not a skeleton; it's a sack of skin into which I can disappear. It's not a superhero costume -- I can't imagine going out fighting crime dresssed as a rabbit -- and it isn't a fetish outfit. It is just something disarming and goofy, and, frankly, some days that is the sentiment needed.
The bunny suit was an accident or, rather, it wasn't something that I planned. But, once you own one, what is the point of having a big pink rabbit costume if you don't wear it?
So, the story. Once, long ago, a good friend invited me to the baby shower for his second child. I don't quite remember the rationale -- it was either Cooper wanted some testosterone to balance out the estrogen cloud which was going to fill his house that afternoon or he thought it would be a good way to get me out of the house and mingling with interesting people. He calls me at noon the day of the event and says, "Hey, baby shower. My house. 5pm. Drop by."
I didn't own a car at this time and the decision to navigate Seattle Metro to Cooper's house was not one to be taken lightly. There was a certain amount of planning that would be required. And, as such, there wouldn't be much time to accomplish any shopping.
Last minute invite notwithstanding, you can't just show up without a gift.
I paniced, got a card, and pasted my head over a piece of Easter Bunny clipart on the inside. The card became a coupon good for one visit from the Easter Bunny. When the kids were old enough to not be completely terrified by the sight of me showing up in a rabbit suit, I'd drop by one Easter and do the show-and-tell. Expiration date: 2000. I figured it was fun, it was charming, the single women at the shower would find it cute and endearing that I would actually consider embarassing myself while in a rabbit suit, and they would never actually collect.
Problem solved. Funny card, generate a little conversation, and squeak by without anyone noticing that I didn't really bring an actual gift. The whole thing went off pretty much as anticipated.
Time passes. I'm over for dinner one evening several years later, sitting in the living room, having a beer and we're yakking back and forth. My gaze travels across the room, slides over the items on the mantelpiece and I suddenly lose my train of thought. Cooper looks over his shoulder and starts laughing. The Easter Bunny card is still proudly displayed on the mantel. "We've got two years yet," he cackles. "Don't think you're getting out of it."
The following fall they move back east. I give them a year extension, figuring that the sight of a large man in a rabbit suit tracking across the lawn in their new neighborhood six months after they move in would probably scare the neighbors. Cooper even offers to buy my plane ticket if I wear the bunny suit during the flight. "Fine, whatever," I say. He's three thousand miles away. What's he going to do if I don't follow through? I make no plans to find a rabbit suit.
Winter, 2000. I'm getting married. Friends and family are gathered for the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding. Cooper is my best man which puts him in charge of the batchelor party. Which, in truth, was partially done to ensure his participation in the ceremony. Sure, kind of an asshole thing to do to a devoted family man three days before Christmas, but hey, I really wanted him to be there.
This is how payback works: As the dinner is winding down, Cooper stands up and gets everyone's attention. "It's time for the gentlemen to depart," he tells everyone solemnly. "And, in accordance with Mark's wishes, we won't be out all evening. We're just going to do a little 'bar hopping.' He says the last two words with a wicked gleam in his eye; he even puts the air quotes around the words. No one but me knows what is coming next and I barely get "Oh" and "shit" out before he thrusts his hands into a large paper sack and pulls out the rabbit suit.
The night before my wedding I spent the evening cavorting around Seattle dressed as a pink rabbit. People with cameras pursued me.
I got to keep the suit. The following Easter was the extension year and I didn't get on a plane. But I did send him an Easter card -- a short video of me in the rabbit suit with placards wishing the boys a happy bunny day. Scared one of his boys too. Must have been that crazed gleam in my eye as I pranced towards the camera.
The suit hangs downstairs next to my wife's wedding dress. It's not a skeleton; it's a sack of skin into which I can disappear. It's not a superhero costume -- I can't imagine going out fighting crime dresssed as a rabbit -- and it isn't a fetish outfit. It is just something disarming and goofy, and, frankly, some days that is the sentiment needed.
colophon
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Comments, observations, complaints, and good e-cards from hallmark.com will be read and appreciated.
contact: malkuth (at) markteppo (dot) com