I found myself in a discussion about art on the weekend. One of the women had bought an expensive Aboriginal painting on a whim and her husband was miffed about it. She sighed and said it was so beautiful, she just couldn’t resist.
I gave a heavy sigh of my own and said: “I want a bunny.”
My friend said: “Ooooh, a Rupert Bunny?” For a moment I thought she was talking about Peter Rabbit’s cousin, but fortunately it clicked that she meant an artist before I embarrassed myself socially.
“No, not him – though I’m sure that would be nice,” I replied. “I’m thinking a dwarf lop or something.”
She looked at me blankly for a moment, not sure why I was introducing rabbits into an art discussion. But I want a bunny like my friend wanted that expensive Aboriginal painting. I think it’s my mid-life crisis kicking in again. Except this time, rather than being miserable about my fat rolls, I’m mourning the death of my fertility.
I feel a bit like Mary in Downton Abbey when she got a cold shiver the exact moment Matthew was injured in the war. The bunny ache is my version of a cold shiver as my biological clock stops ticking. No more babies for me, must get something soft to cuddle …
A school mum friend is trying to convince me her guinea pigs would be just as good. Her kids are bored with them and she’s desperate to find them a new home. But I’m not getting the same cuddly vibes about guinea pigs, much as she tries to wear me down with her pleading.
Although I did come across this handsome fellow in my search for images for the blog … He’s quite something … a “merino” breed, apparently. Nah, a bunny it is. Though I’ve read they get lonely without a friend. Poor little pets. So that’s two bunnies I’ll be acquiring. Husband can’t wait. Yes he can. He’s more the Rupert type.
P.S To the other friend trying to off-load her giant bunnies onto me … Sorry, they won’t cut it either. I want something that I can nurture as it grows.