The Rabbit King

Tonight I was out with my co-workers to celebrate our production manager’s birthday, and we started talking about nicknaming people we’ve been out with. Suzie said her all-time favorite name was Dr. Converse — a med student who she went out with three times. He wore sneakers on all three dates (at which point he said he was too busy becoming a doctor to date her).

My favorite was the Rabbit King.

During a the last few months I lived in Wichita (before moving to Chicago), I was on to keep myself amused. The problem with online dating in Wichita is there’s one degree of separation between everyone — and given that I was a former 4-H agent and knew at least one person in every county in the state, it was pretty easy to find out the scoop on every single person I came across online.

One guy even tried to tell me he owned the airport in Kingman, until I called him out on it via intelligence from the FACS agent, who said she knew his mother and that he still lived at home. (However, it’s possible his family did own a strip of grass suitable for landing an aircraft, so I have to cut him a little slack.)

At any rate, one day I received a rather witty e-mail from a guy with a not-completely-hideous photo, so I checked out his profile. He’d grown up in a smaller town not far away, then gone to various prestigious colleges, and he was now a PhD student at Stanford doing a research project locally. He told me his last name, which was a very unique last name that I had only heard once before.

So I called up my old Fair Board chairman (Mr. Little, who wasn’t so little), and indeed, this cat was the son of the guy who had been the judge of the rabbit show at the county fair. In fact, their whole family was really into showing rabbits, to the point where one of the female family members had actually been crowned National Rabbit Queen (or something like that). They traveled all over the U.S. with their rabbits, and were quite well-known on the circuit.

I’m sure I had met Father Rabbit at some point, but I couldn’t put my finger on what he looked like.

Once I learned this about my fellow, he was forever pegged as the “Rabbit King.”

We arranged to meet for lunch at a Lebanese restaurant that we mutually really liked, and just as I’d pulled in the parking lot, a little neon blue car raced in, and a skinny dark-haired guy stepped out. Clearly it was him. I knew at that instant this was never going to work.

We had a nice lunch, and we had lots to talk about — rabbit stuff, and all. But the whole time I just couldn’t get over the fact that not only had he grown up raising rabbits, but he actually LOOKED like a rabbit!

Maybe there is some truth to people looking like the animals they grow up with?

And now I just had a horrifying thought. My first boyfriend in 5th grade once got really mad at me and started calling me Priscilla the pig.


(And to think they named an adult store after me…)


1 Response so far »

  1. 1

    Sue said,

    Hey, I love rabbits and even show them! I would love to meet a RABBIT GUY! Send him my email and maybe he and I would be a great match!


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