The Bunny Mother came back brandishing a thick booklet. “Here’s the Bunny manual,” she said, handing it to me. “You’ll need to come back for training before you start work.”
I flipped through the manual, feeling more despondent by the minute. How could there be so many rules? There were rules regarding tail fluffiness, the proper way to do the “Bunny Dip” while carrying a tray, what you could and couldn’t eat while working, how to smoke your cigarettes... There were more rules for being a Bunny than there were for being a stewardess!
Still, I resolved to make the decision right away. This was a job that women all over the country coveted. Even my family thought it was a good idea (probably because they didn’t know the bit about the naked pictures). I could make a lot more money than I was making now, and meet the glamorous people I’d always wanted to associate with. Despite the drawbacks, I wondered : could this be a better life than flying?
I left the Bunny Mother’s office with a promise that I would come back the following Monday.
That weekend, I flew a trip to Seattle. During my layover, I tossed and turned in my hotel bed. I dreamed that I was a Bunny. working in the New York club. Men in business suits crowded around me as I performed a flawless Bunny Dip. Then, I felt a sharp pull. Suddenly, everyone was clawing at me, trying to yank off my fluffy white tail. I screamed and kicked, but they wouldn’t stop.
I jerked awake. The covers were tangled up around my legs. To me, the dream was an irrefutable sign: being a Playboy Bunny was a bad idea.
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