My New Bunny Hugger aka Hoodie
What is big, red and comes only once a year? No, I know what you’re thinking, and it is not Santa though he does make a trip to my parents every December bearing gifts. Yes, even though I’m 29 years old he still makes a stop for me, but nope, it’s not Santa, but my brand new Badger red hoodie or as the Canadians like to call it a “bunny hugger” or “bunny hug.”
Last week I waited impatiently as the Canadian customs worker reviewed my passport. He was the only male working and of course I got stuck with him by chance, well, not by chance but because the previous woman with him is oblivious to the rest of the world with her huge yellow polka-dot suitcase that was “supposed to be” considered a carry-on that she couldn’t even carry.
Let me define carry-on for all you present or future flyers. A carry-on is a suitcase that can be “easily” stored in the overhead compartment in the plane. I say “easily” because if you have to “People’s Elbow” your own luggage to try and make it fit, or others in that row need to be removed and placed further up in the plane so that yours can fit IT’S NOT A CARRY-ON.
I watched this woman for a good five minutes as she wrestled with her suitcase the size of a toddler. She tried many ways, too many ways as if she was playing Jenga but instead of trying to remove a piece she was trying to put one in—a piece that didn’t even belong to the game like a jumbo eraser. The gentleman next to the window in our row with a long graying pony tail who had only brought on a lap top bag whispered to the woman sitting between us, “That’s supposed to be a carry-on?”
“That’s called ridiculous,” I said. “Anyone who brings a bag like should be tossed onto the runway with their big bag.” I’m a very impatient flyer. I want to get on and get off.
The woman’s eyes widened at my comment. She was probably thinking: Well, this will be a long flight. I’m sure she was happy when I put on my headphones and started to read my book.
The man laughed, “I agree.”
Anyway this woman flew on two flights with me. From Wisconsin to Minnesota to Saskatchewan she performed her same suitcase battle twice, so it was no surprise to me that when we landed in Regina, she didn’t even have her paperwork filled out nor her passport ready, which led me to be stuck with the male customs worker, who didn’t look so friendly, and why would he be? He had to deal with disorganized polka-dot Hulk Hogan.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hi.” I handed him my passport. (This was a good start.)
“Why are you making this trip to Canada?”
“I’m visiting my boyfriend who is working in Moose Jaw. He is helping build a hospital.”
His eyebrows rose. “And how long have you been dating?”
I smiled. What this a legit question? Surely he was joking? “Well, he would say December, but I would say much earlier than that.”
He didn’t laugh at this. He really wanted a number.
“About six months.” (I went with Jon’s answer.)
“Did you bring him any gifts?”
“Just me,” I laughed.
Again he didn’t laugh. “And you’re not working right now?”
“No, I’m a teacher, so I have off during the summer.”
“Well, you’re a keeper aren’t you,” he smirked.
Haha! Was this really happening? Yes, the Canadian customs worker was actually making me feel pretty horrible. Why didn’t I bring Jon a gift? At that moment I kind of wished I was the lady with the oversized polka-dot case with a gift for Jon inside. I’m sure the customs worker thought she was a gem next to me who he thought would probably be a drain on their economy, especially when I told him I only had $40 dollars in my purse. (Just so you know I brought my credit and debit card too.)
Needless to say I was feeling like a big jumbo eraser walking through the sliding doors to meet Jon. But of course, he greeted me with a huge smile and a white plastic bag. We gave each other a quick hug and kiss, and then of course, I had to ask: “What’s in the bag?” Part of me hoped it wasn’t a gift.
“Just a little something,” he said.
The bag looked bulky. “Is it clothes?” My eyes lit up like it was Christmas, and I was a pre-teen again. Except instead of pulling stoned washed jeans out of the bag, I pulled out a bright red hoodie that said Regina Canada.
“They call is a bunny hugger here,” Jon said.
I snickered. “Why?”
“I have no idea,” Jon said.
“Does it come with a bunny?”
Later we would come to find out that Saskatchewan’s definition of a hoodie was a bit in the past. The earliest hoodies had fur, usually rabbit, lining the front pocket like a muff, so it felt like one was hugging a bunny. I didn’t care what it was called, to me it was new and it was clothing, my first piece since last December when I had sworn off new clothes all together for a year. It was reassuring to know that Jon didn’t think I was an eraser, a drain, he thought I was a keeper.
I can’t wait to wear my bunny hugger. Now if only the weather would open a window and let in some cold so I could. It hasn’t been under 70s since I arrived in Canada—go figure.
the Clothing Fast Project 