A Serial Killer Named Bunny?

Blaring voices woke me from my nap. Jill and Chris ran in all excited. They’d met some kids at the local park and played soccer with them.

Young excited boy kicking ball in the grass“This old lady sat on the bench watching the whole time.” The red cheeked Chris said as he filled a glass with water.

“After the game we walked her home.” Jill added. “Her name is Bunny.”

“Maybe we should invite her over for dinner.” Donna suggested.

“What?” I sat up. “We don’t even know this person.”

“She’s nice, Dad.”

“So are most serial killers.”

“Dad – she’s old.”

“C’mon Jeffery – her name is Bunny – how harmful could she be?”

“Ask Squeeky Fromme.”

Our time at this old townhouse was supposed to be about resting and relaxing. So far it wasn’t. I just wanted to lie on the couch, strap on my headphones, and find a French radio station. I didn’t want to entertain somebody for an entire evening. That’s too much work.

“Let’s just extend an invitation.”

“She probably won’t even come, Dad.”

I was outnumbered on this one. I shrugged my shoulders and lay back down. “Whatever.”

The kids bolted out the door. The thought of interfacing with this stranger sounded as appealing as a colonoscopy. Why couldn’t we have short and brief interactions with people? A bon jour here and merci there – one maybe two minutes tops. An ordeal like this could go on all night – like a board game from hell. I hoped Jill was right and this woman would politely decline the invitation.

Within a half-hour they returned. “She’s coming”

Chris laughed. “She was so excited that she jumped in the air.”

NEXT: Bunny Comes to Dinner

 

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