Bunny Gone Wild

Mr. Starlet loves Halloween. Almost as much as corndogs. In the Starlet household, that’s saying something.

Naturally, Mr. Starlet was a little dismayed when I informed him that we would not be dressing in costume this year in deference to Punk’s sensibilities and yet undamaged psyche. No black cape. No face paint. No fangs. No scary utterances. No blood-stained battle ax. No plastic Uzi. No skull-topped staff.

And no, we will not dress Punk as a devil.

It was even with great trepidation that I agreed to take Punk to Party City in Gastonia, where gore and ghouls abound. But we did.

We had a plan. Mr. Starlet was going to distract her from the ‘Wall O’ Horrors’ while I retrieved Punk’s costume. He was not going to make a beeline for the makeshift “Chop Shop” and let Punk gum a roughly severed hand. But he did.

The fact that Punk was none the wiser only spurred him on--directly to the “Armory Gone Awry” where he introduced her to various torture devices and blood-stained instruments.

When I turned around to find Punk gleefully wielding a battle ax, I knew that Mr. Starlet’s paternity could never again be denied.

Is there genetic counseling available for this?

Eventually, I disarmed Punk through distraction—“confuse and conquer” as my grandmother would say—and wrangled on her costume.

She may have Mr. Starlet’s affinity for all things terrifying, but she still makes a pretty cute bunny. We only briefly considered pacifying her intrigue and Mr. Starlet’s gruesome obsession by making her an ax-wielding bunny. Only briefly.

After shuffling ourselves, two sizes of costumes, and one out-of-place battle ax out of the dressing room, we found a Punk-sized treat bucket in which to collect our—er, her—Halloween candy.

While I may still have my doubts about contributing much to Punk beyond one chromosome and a womb in which to gestate, I have a sneaking suspicion that this tiny barbarian in training may be mine after all.

Starlet women always hold out for the candy.