Audrey and I went to a pet store a few months ago and we saw a glass thingie (see how NaBloPoMo is expanding my vocabulary?) full of miniature rabbits. Even I, who is unswayed by even the cutest shitty-poo puppy or whatever the hell they're called, went all smooshy inside.
Audrey had the incredible foresight to ask me in my mentally weakened state if she could have one for her birthday. Mercifully it's in June so I said something incredibly stupid like "Absolutely, Diva, anything you want. Aw, look, that one is crawling on his brother's head. Aren't they sweet?". Never say something so definite to an 8 year old girl.
Here I was thinking she'd forget as soon as her butt hit the car seat but no such luck, dammit. Every single day since, she's been talking about the thing. It's name is "Lucky" whether it's a boy or girl. It'll be black. She talks about the high shelf she'll put it on in her room so Taz doesn't treat it like a lovely, fuzzy chew toy. She came home today saying that all her little girlfriends in her class want to come to her birthday party next summer so they can see Lucky's big debut. Uh oh. Hasn't she forgotten about this yet? I'm so busted. I don't want a flipping rabbit. But I deserve one for opening my big flapping gob.
How could I think that she'd forget what I promised? Do I not know my own daughter? I've been at this mother thing for over a decade. I should really learn to check myself. How long do rabbits live, anyway?.... I just checked. Five to 7 YEARS. I'm so busted.
Star Wars Celebration 2017: Episode 1
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