So, yesterday got off to a pretty crap start. My bus pulled out when I was two metres from the stop, which would normally mean a 10 minute wait, but since the bus company, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that most people take holidays from Christmas eve until Australia day, it’s running reduced services until the end of the month, so I had to sit on the chilly seat at the chilly bus stop (summer has forgotten Melbourne this year – it was about 12 degrees when I left home!) for 20 minutes until the next bus arrived. And, of course, most people are not on holidays any more, so when the bus did finally come it was chockers and I had to perch myself unsteadily on the back steps, hoping the driver had a light touch on the brakes.
By this time I was beginning to think dark thoughts about the tone being set for my working week, and how I am still a bit sickly and probably should have stayed in bed, and how much I was dreading the thought of my email inbox after being off sick on Friday, and other generally miserable-making tings.
As I was staring miserably out the window at nothing in particular, my eyes came to rest on the windowsill of the house in front of the bus stop, on which sat one of those kitsch life-size figurines of a rabbit standing on its back legs with its ears sticking straight up, and I was just thinking about what kind of person not only owns a kitschy life-size rabbit figurine, but also chooses to place it on their windowsill, facing towards the streets as if surveying the view, when the rabbit’s nose wiffles. And I literally blinked to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. And then it wiffled again, and raised one front paw as if in greeting, and swivelled its ears back and wiffled some more before turning to sit in profile.
(An aside: How did the bunny get up to the windowsill? Does it have a little bunny-size ladder? Or does its owner put it up there and then sit peeking out from behind the polyester lace curtains to see whether anyone notices it?)
I looked around the bus to see whether anyone else had noticed this incredible feat of cuteness, but everyone around me was scrolling their Blackberrys or fiddling with their iPods or sending text messages or trying to get a little more sleep. And I realised that if I hadn’t missed my bus, or even if there’d been a seat on the bus I was on, I would have missed it, too. And in what would have been no more than 10 seconds, my morning changed from being very Bad and Unlucky, to being Okay, or maybe even Pretty Good, because I and only I had witnessed the Monday morning bunny magic.