The Dust Bunnies

This morning I awoke, and you can imagine my shock, when I realized that instead of popping my allergy pill last night, I had taken a pill from an unmarked bottle that someone had placed on my nightstand.

“What?  How did this happen?”  I questioned myself when I realized I was only three inches tall.  “Who put that bottle there?  What does it contain?”  My mind raced with wild stories of evil scientists trying to concoct shrinking pills and witches stirring their witchy brews over steaming cauldrons under the full moon.  I tried to untangle the mystery when suddenly the ground began to shift beneath me.

I jumped to my wee feet, but the sheer force of my husband’s body adjusting in the bed threw me from my resting place, and I toppled over the edge and down to the floor beneath.

I never imagined so many dust bunnies had gathered for a meeting beneath my bed.  “Hello, Miss.”  One politely waved at me, but the thought terrified me.

How long have these bunnies been living here, my mind questioned.  How long have they lived under my bed, and from where have they all come? No wonder why I have to take that allergy medicine, I’m allergic to bunnies.

Just then, one skittered closer toward me.  At first it seemed as if he were just trying to be polite, but as he grew closer, I could see that he wasn’t made up of fur at all, but rather he was a gathering of pieces: hair, skin cells, and crumbs from a dropped Cheeto.

“You must come and join us, Miss.”  His crumbs seemed to shift into a smile.

“I’m sorry,” I tried to excuse myself as I stepped backwards in my attempt to escape.  “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

“Nonsense,” his dusty paws reached out and snatched my arm, “There’s always time to play.”  he threw his head back as his evil laughter chortled from his throat of lint.  The other dusty bunnies seemed to bounce in excitement at the thought that they would soon be able to create new friends from all of my…pieces.  I swallowed hard.  This is my one last chance!  I must make a run for it!

I thrashed with all my might to break loose from his dusty grip, and without even stopping to look, I turned and ran right into a sock that one of my children had dropped onto the floor.  It’s too late!  I realized my fate, as the dusty bunny hurried into the sock behind me.  It’s too late!  There is no escape!  This dirty sock has led me to my doom.

But not yet, I decided.  I would not give up so easily.  I raced to the toe seam, and I began to pick away at the threads.  The bunny crept closer and closer as the others lined into the sock behind him.  I heard their eerie laughter peal as they scampered toward me.  I pulled and tugged at the sock, as I mashed my body into the sock with all of my might.  I could feel the fabric stretching and pulling against my face as I yelled for help with every ounce of oxygen in my tiny lungs.

And then suddenly, someone did hear me.  Suddenly, someone pulled the fabric away, and the light overwhelmed my eyes.  I blinked my eyes until they adjusted, and then, I was finally able to see the brave knight that so valiantly rescued me.  It was Rice, my six-year-old son.

“Mommy, do you always sleep with the blankets over your face?”  He questioned with his cute little chubby cheeks curved up into a smile.

“What, huh?  What happened?  How did I get back in bed?”  My mind raced through questions.

“Mama, you’re silly.”  His cute little chuckle tickled my ears.

“Well, thank you, kind sir,” I said as I sat up in the bed and curtsied with the blankets, “for being so brave and rescuing me from my peril.”

“You’re welcome, Mama.  I’m going to go play Wii now.”  And the brave knight skipped away.

Whew!  That’s the last time I will ever eat nachos that late.  My mind contemplated, Well, at least until I’m hungry for nachos again.  And I skipped off to find the broom and dust pan.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s