There Is a Talking Rabbit In My House

I have a well documented antipathy towards rabbits.Keep this in mind as the story unfolds.

I was playing Qwelf, a party game I can not recommend enough when you are playing with people you barely know, with my mother, sister, brother-in-law, and his mother last weekend.  One of the cards my mother received required her to tell a story from her childhood while tap dancing (of course). 

She told a story about how her younger brother, Kevin, who was almost a decade younger than her, got upset when my mom told him that his talking Bugs Bunny toy didn't like him anymore because he was pestering her.  He hid the toy in the coal bin (Appalachian Pennsylvania) and when he went to bed that night, he was crying because he wanted Bugs Bunny and my Grandmother made my mom and another one of their siblings get the damn thing out of the coal bin.

By the time the toy was cleaned, it never worked right again.

My mom wistfully mentioned that she felt terrible about this entire episode and wished she could replace the toy.

With a 30-second search on Etsy, Bugs Bunny was procured.

Now he's sitting in a box on my table awaiting a trip to see my mom.

Creepy thing.