The Professor

On Easter morning during our vacation north, we awoke bright and early. I stumbled into the dining room, eager to gorge myself on creme eggs and marshmallow chicks, and there, occupying my spot at the breakfast table, was a massive chocolate bunny. He was approximately 18 inches high, with large yellow eyes that stared menacingly out of his box. The container was decorated with colorful, retro-50s pictures of frolicking woodland creatures and across the top it read "The Professor." I loved him instantly.

My father, who shares my childlike infatuation with large edible sugar creatures, had discovered The Professor during an errant wander down a drugstore candy aisle. Despite my mother's protests that a giant chocolate hare was not at the top of newlyweds' wish list, he proudly presented me with The Professor that morning, eyes twinkling with self-satisfation.

The Professor watched us silently as we ate our Easter brunch. He presided over cocktails that evening from his lotfy post in the corner atop a stack of ancient magazines. He witnessed me wander into the kitchen for a glass of water in the dead of night, fierce yellow eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

As we were packing our bags to race to the airport the next day, my father called to me, distressed.

"Don't forget The Professor! You must take him back to Los Angeles!"

It pained me to point out that, sadly, there was no room in our luggage for a gigantic rabbit. The Professor must stay behind.

Several days later, I arrived home after a long day at work to find a large box on our doorstep. I opened it, gleefully anticipating a very late wedding present, and there he was, yellow eyes staring up at me. The Professor had come home.

Since then, The Professor has become a part of our little family. When I awoke early one morning, I placed him, box and all, in our bed, noble chocolate head resting on my pillow, tucked carefully into the blankets. By his yell, I assume that attempting to snuggle with an edible animal was not a pleasant way for my husband to start his day. He sought vengeance by putting The Professor in his place the next morning, and I too awoke with a faceful of cardboard, staring into those fearful yellow eyes.

Sometimes The Professor wanders into the kitchen while I'm cooking, and sometimes he placidly watches the game with my husband. He watches over us.

My husband says that we have to get rid of him, that grown people can only have so much fun with a chocolate rabbit. But I know the truth.

The Professor will return. Oh yes, he shall return.