Quiet Unravel Sunday

 Listen. I woke up this morning thinking, “Maybe today will be calm.” The universe said HAHAHAHA NO and handed Bunz a Q‑tip like it was her starter pistol for the Bunny Grand Theft Auto Championship. I walk into the hallway, and there she is, my rabbit, my emotional support menace, holding a Q‑tip in her mouth like a tiny furry mob boss with a cigar. She LOCKED EYES with me. Not scared. Not guilty. Just pure, unfiltered chaos. And then she TOOK OFF. I’m talking full‑speed, turbo‑charged, NASCAR‑bunny energy. She was drifting corners. She was Tokyo‑Drifting under chairs. She hit a binky so hard she almost went airborne. Meanwhile, I’m behind her like some out‑of‑shape action hero yelling, “DROP IT. DROP IT. DROP IT.” while she’s zig‑zagging like she’s avoiding sniper fire. Every time I got close, she’d look back like, “Try harder, peasant.” And of course OF COURSE the only reason she even HAD a Q‑tip is that my child apparently cleaned her room the same way I clean my trauma: by pretending it doesn’t exist and shoving everything into corners. By the time I finally caught Bunz, she had the Q‑tip hanging out of her mouth like she was about to give a TED Talk titled: “How to Ruin Your Mother’s Morning: A Masterclass.” I love her. But also… I’m filing for emotional damages.