The makers of GMO Bunny know of your longings for peace and harmony within your broken household. You, my dear single and/or divorced mother, have three children whom you affectionately nicknamed Thing One, Thing Two, and Thing Three. These are not original nicknames but you have no time for originality in your demanding life of day-to-day childcare and workplace responsibilities. We understand your dire need for a few minutes’ respite, for the calm you must achieve after coming home from your dead-end job before microwaving chicken nuggets for the Things’ nightly consumption feast.
So we invented a friend for you. GMO Bunnys look just like normal rabbits, but they’re better. They’re warm and cuddly and their fur is softer than that of all natural beings. GMO Bunnys will attach themselves to your heart. And, better yet, our new strains of Bunny now come with enhanced intelligence and a predisposition for the same cheery helpfulness that was characteristic of 50s-era sitcom housewives.
And better still: GMO Bunnys will not bail out on household chores like your boyfriend and/or ex-husband did every time there was a sporting event or some guy telling sophisticated fart jokes on television. You will not find yourself working overtime to mow the lawn, putty over gaps in the deteriorating window glazing, and sort the laundry just because, My God! There’s Sumo Wrestling on Channel 13! GMO Bunnies are plumbing experts who will unclog kitchen drains, fix leaky faucets and de-lime showerheads so each morning you can be invigorated with the pulse of warm water. GMO Bunnys are the handiest of handymen, able and willing to repair things you had no idea were broken. They will anticipate your needs, your desires. You will come home to find the Things’ toys put away in their proper location, their beds for once perfectly made, the kitchen floor freshly scrubbed.
Then, on the day you come home most tired… on the day when you want to scream because every manager at your office is an absolute jackass… on that day when every twit in your company harasses you to proof-read their memos, their important emails, their effed-up shopping lists… on that day when you most clearly doubt you are serving any meaningful purpose on this planet …. on that day, you will come home and find a warm bath has been drawn for you. The bath will have just the right amount of bubbles and though you will naturally wish to attribute this act of kindness to your children, you will note the bath bubbles on GMO Bunny’s whiskers, how his fur is perfumed with the same lilac scent as the bathwater.
You will come to expect more of your bunny, and your bunny will deliver. He will prepare macaroni and cheese dinners for the Things, relaxing the pressure you feel to race home each night. He will learn how to drive a car for the express purpose of picking up the Things from school when the sudden need arises. He may even start one of those entrepreneurial home businesses so heavily touted on afternoon infomercials, in the process earning many hundreds of dollars per week which, though slightly offset by his increased appetite for carrots, will allow you to cut back on the soul-crunching hours you must work at your office.
And then, one day, the Things will approach you. Thing One, being the oldest and thus the self-anointed SpokesThing will say something like, “That bunny’s nice, isn’t he, Mom?”
And sure, the bunny is nice. So you’ll say, “I’m so glad we have him.”
“Do you think it would be nice to have him forever?”“Sure.”
“Then maybe you should marry him.” What they are saying, of course, is perhaps you ought to ditch whatever man is in your life…
…which is just as well because whatever man is in your life complains about horsepower torque and how it relates to his mid-life crisis du jour. When last seen three days ago, that moping man leapt from the couch during the commercial break of a lacrosse telecast and declared, Hey! We could really use a motorcycle around here!
You will make excuses why you can’t marry the GMO Bunny, but the children parry back with convincing rejoinders. Thing Three will claim her best friend’s mom just married a Bunny. This will sound fishy and you will call Thing Three’s best friend and talk to her mommy and find out that, my god, she really did just marry a bunny. In fact, they have just returned from their honeymoon and the newlywed mom will gush about how good the sex can be, you know, with a bunny down there. And you will find out that all the Things’ friends’ moms have married GMO Bunnys.
Racing to the television, you will see stories about the millions of guys being booted out of houses in favor of Bunny Daddies and forced to sleep on heating grates because divorce proceedings have stripped them of all worldly possessions.
So you will agree to the marriage. The Things will shout with glee, and your Bunny will get to work stitching up a bridal gown for you. Life with a partner who shares equally in household chores and child rearing duties will be qualitatively different than what you have known. You will remember the days when you juggled fifteen tasks at once, how it was always when you were busiest that the man in your life would demand you drop everything to find the TV remote control or—better yet—fetch him a Budweiser. You will wonder how you put up with his nasty remarks about your mother, your sagging bustline, your inability to juggle more than fifteen tasks at any one moment, but it’s the one area—trying to figure out why you put up with the men in your life for so long—that GMO Bunnys will be unable to help you with. That, you must figure out on your own.
