Bunny Brain

“There is a suprise on the table for you when you get home… Don’t get too excited, it’s Foster’s”

That’s what I heard. Free beer is free beer, even if Foster’s barely fits the definition, so I was reasonably excited at the prospect of cracking a cold one before hitting the textbooks again.

But it was not beer on the table, it was a foster-bunny!

A tiny, white, fluffy bunny with pink eyes and pink ears. There is only one correct response when confronted with a tiny surprise bunny on the dining table, and that is to pick it up and love it and take many photos of its cuteness.

“Her name is Pinky because she is Pink.

Well there is no arguing with that logic. Pinky proceeded to assist me with my neurology homework, in a manner somewhat reminiscent of Pinky and the Brain.

On inspection later in the evening, I discovered Pinky has boy-bits. However his name had stuck. Just as well that there is cartoon precedent for a boy called Pinky.

While peripherally observing Pinky hippity-hopping all over the desk (“It’s not a desk, it’s the dining table! Just because you have your books all over it doesn’t make it your desk!”) it occurred to me that my study method is disturbingly reminiscent of Pinky’s exploration method. I flit from one topic to another without ever really drawing a line under any one subject.

Perhaps in the same way that Pinky’s leaps, bounds, stretches and tiny hops will eventually reveal to him the entire topography of the text-covered desk, so my random dipping, quizzing and tangental reading of said texts and accompanying bits of internet will eventually reveal to me the entire Phase One curriculum. Perhaps. Here’s hop[p]ing…

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1 Comment

Filed under Family, Med School

One response to “Bunny Brain

  1. Years ago I was studying at my (then) boyfriend’s house during the day while his parents were overseas on holiday. I was using pink hi-lighter to study, and his little short-haired terrier kept sitting on my notes on the ground.

    I proceeded to pick up the terrier and colour small patches of him pink with the non-toxic pen. For the rest of the day I called him “Pinky” and I think he liked it – every time I called him Pinky, his tail wagged.

    Thank God the colour faded by the time the boyfriend’s parents came home. They would have been even less impressed than he was. (He is now my husband. Clearly it didn’t distress him too much.)

    I wouldn’t do it now, but the dog was fine, we both had fun and it all worked out in the end. Some boys like being Pink!

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