Wednesday, May 29, 2013

And now for the story denouement!  Mrs. Bunny is very fond of denouements.  She can denoue with the best of them!  Also, she is very fond of exclamation points.  Many contemn the exclamation point.  Especially when used over-enthusiastically!  Although, one might ask, when else WOULD one use an exclamation point except when seized with enthusiasm?  And who would want a life lived without enthusiasm!  It would, indeed, be a life unlived!  Mrs. Bunny finds her own use of exclamation points to be judicious and just right.  She compares it to two bourbon biscuits with tea.  Treatlike without flying into the hysteria of eclairs.

And now for the marmots.

Mrs. Bunny drove along the road, what road that the marmots weren't hogging.  She drove for miles looking for the end of the marmot procession without finding one.  Fortunately she spied The Marmot, who was the only marmot she had had any particular dealings with.  She asked him what was up.  He said that he thought it rather obvious.  They were marching.  They were protesting.  In great numbers.  From all parts of the island.  They gathered.
"Dear me,"  said Mrs. Bunny.  "Protesting what?"
"We haven't yet decided.  In truth, we haven't decided if we are protesting or celebrating.  But I can assure you, it will be one of the two."
"And what's in the bags?"  asked Mrs. Bunny for each marmot was clasping a brown paper lunch bag in his sweaty little paw.
"None of your business,"  said The.
So Mrs. Bunny sighed and grabbed it away.  Upon opening it she smelled the distinctive smell of garlic bread.  She picked a piece up.  It was hard.  In fact, the whole bag contained little nubbins of day-old garlic bread.
"Okay,"  she said, sighing again, for marmots often gave her a headache.  "I give up."
"For throwing,"  said The.  "At the thing we decide to protest."
"Uh huh,"  said Mrs. Bunny, preparing to drive home again.
"Or in the air,"  said The.  "In celebration.  In either event we plan to go wild.  Absolutely wild!"
"Mrs. Bunny would prefer it if you left the exclamation points to those who know how to use them properly,"  was all she could think of to say.
Then she drove home.
"Don't tell me,"  said Mr. Bunny from the porch, opening his newspaper and hoping to get through it in peace.
So she didn't.
She told you.


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