Scrappy: “I’m back from Beef Dip, and I have souvenirs for you!”
Me: “Hopefully nothing contagious.”
Scrappy: [stifling a cough] “Of course not. Now, I know your thing is jackalopes, but I couldn’t find any. So instead, I got you bunnies!”
Me: “Ooh! The Centzon Tōtōchtin!”
Scrappy: “Um… what?”
Me: “The divine rabbits from Aztec mythology who throw giant, drunken parties!”
Scrappy: “Okay, seriously, only you would know this.”
Me: “Um, I’m pretty sure the Aztecs were aware of it, too.”
Scrappy: “…”
Me: “Bunnies!”
The beadwork on the little bunny in front is arranged in a peyote motif, so I decided to name him Botón, which is Spanish for “button.” Get it?! Like a peyote button? Ye Gods but I’m clever. And I don’t even mind that Scrappy brought all these symbols of drugs and alcohol into my house, because I accept the magic rabbits as protective, talismanic reminders not to ingest anything hallucinogenic from Central America. They’re really the gifts that keep on giving that way.
Marjorie's Forgeries 