Nekked Bunny Hop

A note to my sons:  This post contains some suggested nudity that you will not be able to "unsee."  However, just remember what little Bryce said all those years ago.  "Well, duh, Reed.  Jonathan's adopted!  They've [Mom and Dad] have only mated twice."  Think on that and clear your minds of any haunting images of Nekked Hoppin' because it has never happened.  Ever.

The tradition of the Nekked Bunny Hop began in the year 1980.  It actually followed another tradition Alan likes to call the Nekked Christmas Tree Dance.  As we carefully placed our small collection of newlywed Christmas ornaments on our newlywed Christmas tree, he asked me when I was going to do the Nekked Christmas Tree Dance.  We had been married about 2 weeks at the time.  His suggestion was met with my first marital eye roll and "yeah, right."

A few months later the breezes warmed signaling the coming of Spring and the Easter season.  "Since I missed your Nekked Christmas Tree Dance, why don't you go ahead and do your Nekked Bunny Hop?" Alan grinned.  Again, his request was met with eye rolls.  Yes.  I was a married woman.  But, I was not THAT kind of girl.  Seriously, Al.  What were you thinking?

Thirty three years later like clockwork, the brightness of Spring and greening of the trees beckoned Alan to call for the Nekked Bunny Hop.  Over time, my negative responses have evolved.  "Oh, I only do that when Easter falls on a Thursday."  "I did it yesterday.  I guess you missed it."  "You go first."  He has never taken me up on the whole "go first" proposition.

A couple of nights ago - on a "school night" - I padded into our bedroom at about 10PM and glanced at early-to-rise Al who was being lulled to sleep by some stupid something on the Cartoon Channel.  That's what happens every night.  At about 9:00, he gets up from his chair in the living room, yawns, stretches and calls it a day.  Off he goes to our soft bed and the comfort of stupid cartoons while I secretly catch up on some of my recorded Real Housewife...er...uh...documentaries.

As I gazed at my drowsy precious man, I decided to try a litte experiment.  I padded into our bathroom and ever-so-quietly closed the French doors.  After changing into my decrepit pink PJ bottoms and tired pink "I [heart] NYC" t-shirt, I began to softly sing the Bunny Hop melody..."La ta da ta dadda da da da..."  Gaining momentum, I sang louder and in a more sultry voice.  [I must confess.  I first typed s-l-u-t-r-y.  Thank you, spell check.]  Soon, I was belting it out.  "Uhhhhh...put your right foot forward!  Puh-da-da!  Put your left foot out!  Do the Bunny Hop!  Yeah!  HOP!  HOP!  HOP!"

Just as I had hypothesized, the French doors opened slowly, carefully, quietly and Alan's little head peeked into the bathroom.  From the clutches of slumber to the curiosity of a newlywed, he had bounded out of bed.

"Oops!!  You just missed it!  Maybe next year!  Sorry 'bout that!" I teased.  

"Yeah, right," he replied rolling his eyes as he headed back to his warm sleepy cocoon.

I was pretty pleased with myself.  Yep.  Pretty pleased.  But, I wonder.  If I had been doing the Nekked Bunny Hop, would I have forever ruined Alan's dream of the dance? Like Jerry Seinfeld says.  There are just some things you do NOT want to see a naked person doing  - like coughing.  Or mopping.  Or Nekked Bunny Hopping.  Flop!  Flop!  Flop!