As per usual, I got out of bed late today. I throw on halfway-decent clothes for work, stuff the usual stuff into my pockets, run out the door, decide to take the shortcut across the lawn to the car, fall down a hole that I didn’t see — FWUMP! — and land in front of a formerly relaxed large white rabbit who raises an eyebrow in a most irritated way.
“You're late,” the rabbit says.
“Well, yes. Got out of b—”
“Twelve months late.”
“Oh, well, THAT. My mother was ill.”
The rabbit waves his paw to stop me. “Excuses, excuses.” He goes about the business I had so rudely interrupted, which was reading the latest issue of Charlie Hebdo. Then he looks up at me as if surprised I'm still here. I was still there largely because I was still pulling my wits together. Falling down a hole tends to jostle the wits some.
“I suppose you'll be wanting tea, then?”
“Well…” I began. I hadn't been, in fact I had been wanting a couple of donuts and a coffee from Tim Horton's. But tea in general sounded like a Good Thing all of a sudden.
The rabbit sighs. “I'll get them all together. I can't say they won't be a bit put out. Then again, it's hard to tell from normal. You know how they can be.”
I don’t say anything. I'm actually trying to work out how I'm going to get to work today, being that my car is above me somewhere and I am not in it.
The rabbit harrumphs, turns to go looking for the whole crew. A couple of steps into his march, he turns back and looks at me critically. “I don't recall Alice being quite so, er, hirsute.”
“It’s been a rough year,” I replied.
A few minutes later I could overhear vague shouting, and the only bit I can really make out is the rabbit saying “Yes, I KNOW we're supposed to have the sesquicentenary off, but it's not as if we can control these things, can we?….”