While rummaging through some photo albums earlier I found this picture of me as a baby.
I have seen it a hundred times, but only recently with the element of foreshadowing that has been missing all these years. I mean, look at me. Me! With a RABBIT! It’s like I’ve known all my life that a rabbit would become a pivotal element of symbolism in my life. Do you think that little girl knows that she’s going to be so famous one day that seven people who aren’t even related will one day read her blog? Do you think she knows that she’s going to need therapy someday? Or that she looks horrible in green? And that she would despise eggs up until adulthood? Or that she would eventually eat mushrooms without throwing up? I wonder if she knows how hard it is to get a date. Probably, do you see how hard I’m clutching that rabbit’s ears, as if it represents all the future basketball stars who would reject me? (Andy Toolson, you know who you are.) I’d like to think I was dissing the photographer, like she’s back there making all these squealing noises, trying to get me to laugh or smile and I’m all, “Man, that chick is riDICulous.” Still. Me, the rabbit, it’s like it was meant to be.