So, I've always had an overactive imagination. But I've got nothing on my child.
If you're a close n' personal Facebook friend, then this image got all up in your feed all day yesterday. Apologies. But it still just boggles my mind. Lemme 'splain:
Nora, since she was roughly eighteen months old, has always pointed at our kitchen cabinet and told us about her bunny that lives there. We're artists. We believe in imaginary play and all that other hippie stuff. So we humored her.
"Tell us about him- what is he wearing?"
Nora would always look vaguely disgusted and change the subject. But yesterday, after mentioning the bunny and hearing my agreeable tones, something inside of her just snapped.
"Mom," she said, smacking my hand against the cabinet. "This. Is. The. Bunny."
I almost jumped out of my face. There's a frickin' bunny rabbit IN THE CABINET. (And he looks none too pleased with us for not paying full attention to our child.)
|Yeesh. It's like the eyes follow you.|
And for fun, I've added a picture from my 3rd apartment here in Chicago. This was an actual, non-retouched water stain on my bedroom ceiling. I called the landlord once to fix it, but didn't follow up. I had become increasingly fond of my mystical unicorn friend.
|He's a baby unicorn, too. That means he's magickier.|
Mystical creatures just follow me around from abode to abode.
I'm clearly the best person to live with, ever.