Tonight, while I was feeding reptiles and minding my own business, Kris came charging into the room like he’d just discovered a body.

“The rabbits aren’t both males.”

I looked up.

One rabbit was chasing the other. There had apparently been sniffing. And, according to my husband, there had definitely been humping.

My day was winding down. I still had a closet to organize, children to wrangle, and a house to reassemble after the tiny tornadoes I lovingly call daughters had completed their daily destruction cycle. I did not have the emotional bandwidth for Rabbit CSI.

So I laughed.

I laughed because somehow, a man from our generation had missed the entire cultural meaning of the phrase “they bang like rabbits.” Like it’s a saying we invented for decoration.

They’re just being rabbits, babe.

Rabbits hump for dominance. They hump for bonding. They hump because hormones exist, because the wind changed direction, because another rabbit glanced at them from across the room. They have the impulse control of teenage boys left unsupervised with unlimited energy drinks and a Walmart parking lot.

My husband stood there genuinely concerned that our two male rabbits had somehow been running a long con on us. Sir. No. They’re just rabbits.

The longer I watched them, the more jealous I became.

Think about their lives for one second. They eat hay. They take naps. They lounge around looking aggressively fluffy. They occasionally sprint through the house at Mach 3 for absolutely no reason, then stop, stare at nothing, and go back to sleep like nothing happened. Nobody asks them what’s for dinner. Nobody hands them a school form that requires seventeen signatures and what feels like a blood sample. Nobody schedules a single fucking meeting.

They eat snacks and vibe. That’s the whole job.

I looked at those fuzzy little freeloaders and thought, if reincarnation is real, bring me back as a spoiled house rabbit. Let me lounge dramatically in a sunbeam. Let me sprint through the house at 2 a.m. for reasons I don’t fully understand and answer to no one. Let me know, just once, the absolute peace of zero responsibilities.

And let someone remind my husband that rabbits are basically teenagers with no supervision. If it’s warm and vaguely alive, somebody’s getting humped. You wouldn’t leave a teenage boy alone with an apple pie…. You don’t leave a rabbit alone with anything. 

Apparently the outcome is the same