let lemons be angry

"We're not the kind of girls who will ever get bunnies for our birthdays!" -insightful friend, over dinner

Although I wouldn't mind taking a little rabbit under my wing, the above statement is alarmingly true. ("Alarmingly" is my new favourite word; i find it always applicable.) Giving a girl a bunny is akin to saying "I think you're like a bunny." And bunnies, in our urban world, are linked to all kinds of other things, like jigsaw puzzles, pink phones, Guess? bags, photo scrapbooks, feathery beds, and soft focus photographs with sunflower borders.

That said, bunnylike girls will always get birthday presents. There is something about them that demands special care and emboldened love. Is being a recipient of a birthday bunny better than being a reader of best conversations that are classified as fiction for- as it goes- they happened that long ago? Because I've gone through enough moody glasses of iced water at sushi bars to start questioning myself.

And yet I look at the fake plastic trees and know: absolutely not.