My Secret Life as a Bunny (Part 2)

Yesterday I told you about my foray into the bunny business. In answer to your questions, I stuck (or shall I say, "stunk"?) it out for the whole school year.

My favorite part of being Cecil was the children. As school mascots go, bunnies are cuter than, say, vikings or gladiators, which gave me instant celebrity status among the kids at the games. One child whom I'll never forget hugged on me at every game. It was obvious that she was mentally challenged in some way and I always made a point of approaching her. She gave me a plastic stretchy heart bracelet that I still have to this day.

To further my career, I played the Easter Bunny at a local mall for one season in college. (I'm quite sure that I was the only applicant with previous experience.) The mall provided several CLEAN costumes. They were nearly identical to the Cecil costume, minus the teenage boy sweat.

There were several of us playing the famed furry creature. Besides me, there were a couple of other college girls and a really cute, popular high school boy who just happened to be my height. (This detail will be important later in this post.)

We had a lengthy job description, which included things like "no talking" and "no hopping" (it looked "awkward"). That took a lot of the fun out of it. Oh, well. No one said anything about skipping, so skip I did!

For the most part, it wasn't that exciting. (I always worked the slow nights. If you want to avoid the lines, your best bet is a Tuesday.)

I was always so excited for a child to come. The one good thing about it being so slow is that I was able to spend as much time as I wanted with each one. They often sat on my lap for a long time, pouring out their little hearts. I remember one little boy shared how his team had just lost their soccer game. I nodded soberly and patted his shoulder, and he seemed to feel better.

Sometimes, I would get up and dance with the children to the mall Musak, and they just cracked up. I had as much fun as they did!

The most depressing moment was when someone brought the tiniest baby I ever saw for me to hold. I heard the mother say that they had come straight from the hospital. I was so angry and wanted to yell, "Lady, do you know how many kids have sneezed, picked their noses and butts, and rubbed their grubby hands all over my fur????" The young mother obviously didn't know any better. I'll never forget her standing there with her greasy, stringy hair and decaying teeth, smiling at her tiny baby and saying over and over, "She's so little." Meanwhile, I was trying as hard as I could to hold the baby securely while letting the least bit of fur touch her as possible. I remember praying the whole time, "Dear Lord, please don't let this precious baby get sick."

Another memorable moment was a large, gussied up, hoity toity family that came to have their portrait made with the Easter Bunny. I wish I could remember all the children's names. They sounded like surnames, and they all ended in -ton. The ones I do remember were Carrington, Wellington, Washington, and Remington (some were girls!) They weren't little kids, either. Most of them were teenagers. I think the thing that struck me the most was how seriously they took themselves, as if this were an expensive portrait studio. I remember thinking, c'mon, people. This is the MALL! You're getting a POLAROID!

My most interesting visitors were also teenagers. Remember the high school hottie I told you about earlier who also played the Easter Bunny? And remember that the Easter Bunny is not allowed to talk?

This is where it gets fun.

A group of giggling teenyboppers came bouncing over to see me. Well, not me. But apparently they didn't know that.

These girls were poured into their jeans and wore heavy makeup. Imagine Bratz dolls coming to life. ~shudder~

They were rather, um, flirtatious.

I don't want to go into the way that they sat on (read: straddled) my knees.

~Throwing up. Violently.~

True to my job description, I didn't talk. I just sat there, doing my bunny duty while silently begging them to leave.

If only I could have been a fly on the wall at their school the next day! I could just imagine their conversation:

Giggling Girls: Batting eyes. Hiiiiiiiii, Jooooooooooooooooshhhhhhhhh!!!!
We enjoyed seeing you last night!!!!!

Josh: What are you talking about?

And now you know . . . the rest of the story!

My Secret Life as a Bunny (Part 1)

Yesterday's post brought several emails commenting on my job as mall Easter Bunny, so I thought I would share a little more.

My life as a bunny started in high school, where our school mascot was a "Briar Jumper." (I'm sure this was emasculating for our football team. Ooh! The Big, Bad Bunnies!)

At some point, I tried out to be "Cecil," the mascot who got to wear the plush costume and generally act the fool at all the games.

This is called, My Dream Job.

I had it all. I was bouncy. I was bubbly. I could do cartwheels. I was energetic. I had school spirit. There was only one thing standing in my way.

The cheerleaders were doing the judging. ~shudder~

This was not my ideal judging panel.

Now, I've got nothing against cheerleaders. (In fact, I desperately wanted to be one and get to wear a short skirt and have guys drool over me.)

It's just that, well . . . popular kids tend to eschew unpopular kids.

(This is a polite way of saying, "chew them up and spit them out".)

Now, I can just hear a bunch of you saying, "But Mammarino, it couldn't have been that bad."

Y'all. I was in the VIDEO CLUB, for cryin' out loud.

Not to mention the Art Club.

Heck, if I'd just joined the Chess Club I could have hit the nerd trifecta.

Back to the tryouts. My only real competition that I could see was Chuck. He was a shoo-in because he was already cute, popular and was the class clown. And, I have to admit, he was the perfect Cecil.

I wasn't too worried, though, because they had to pick two or three Cecils. Surely they would see how good I am and I could snag a spot.

Long story short, I was cast as an alternate. Better than nothing, right?

Still, I was dejected. A naughty part of me that I only talk about to God (and, apparently, to the hundreds of people that read this blog) secretly wanted Chuck or someone to get sick just once so I could fulfill my dream of being Cecil.

I got my chance. Good old Chuck and his comrades never even had to catch so much as a cold. It seems that because the task of playing Cecil was so exhausting, they had to schedule two Cecils per game, switching at halftime. However, there was a slight problem with this arrangement.

There was only one costume.

By halftime, that costume was dripping with sweat. You could have wrung it out, filled a 5 gallon pickle bucket, and wrung it out some more.

Just imagine putting on a heavy winter coat that was drenched in stagnant water. And hadn't been washed in, oh, about a year. (That was another thing; they only had it in the budget to have the suit dry cleaned once a month or so.)

Mmmm, boy. No better way to spend a Friday night then by bathing in a teenage boy's sweat.

The costume head, of course, couldn't be cleaned very efficiently, either. Yessirree, that was a treat for the old olfactory system.

Guess who got called on to sub? A lot? Like, almost every single game for the whole school year?

You got it. We geeks are good for something.