"Hurry up or youll be late, daddy."
Why do I let my daughter get me into these things? I didnt want to play the Easter Bunny, on the Sunday of the big game. I wanted to be sitting on the sofa, feet up, popcorn and munchies at the ready with my favorite beverage, cold, on the table. Instead, Id be sweltering inside of an old smelly flea-bitten rabbit suit, passed down from volunteer to volunteer never getting cleaned or deodorized in the process.
I drove to Hayes Park, parked, and carried the suit inside a large plain bag, made out of an old sheet decades ago. My daughter ran off to partake of the festivities, which were mostly helping little kids find candy that had been strewn all over the park earlier in the day.
"Oh, Mr. Marcus, so good of you to volunteer," greeted Mrs. Blanton, organizer of the event and mother of Marci, one of my daughters close friends.
"You can dress over in Mr. Bunnys Hutch."
She pointed to a small building over on the side of the clearing where the kids were searching for goodies. I made my way over, noticing that there were several Bunny helpers, also in costume. They were all females, wearing very short skirts that stuck out almost horizontally from their waists, form fit colored bustiers that stopped short of the neck, and perky ears mounted on headbands.
I entered Bunnys Hutch. On the advice of a previous stuckee, I took off everything except t-shirt and jockey shorts, since I was advised it got very warm inside the suit. The only ventilation came from some screened areas on the oversized rabbit head, the same ones used for seeing. I put my clothes to one side and exited the small building, bending over so I wouldnt rip the ears off my costume head.
"Oh, Mr. Easter Bunny, are you ready? Here is your basket of goodies. Make sure you circulate. Ill ask one of the helpers to lead you around. You probably cant see very well from inside there, now can you?"
I grunted a "No."
"Marci, oh Marci, would you please es... Les hele novellen
