I came late to the whole driving thing. My father tried to teach me as a teenager but his white Ford Telstar didn’t have power steering. The lesson felt like having to push an army tank around our small, suburban cul-de-sac. In my 30th year I changed my mind and decided to get some professional driving lessons. I would have three different teachers. There was the affable Wally from Persia (he said this rather than Iran), an African gentleman from Sudan whose name I don’t remember because it was a single lesson courtesy of Groupon and Trina from Afghanistan who did most of the important work. I joked with friends that I needed instructors from war-torn countries to put up with my atrocious driving skills.
After getting my licence I did a road trip from Sydney to Canberra. Driving some 279km along Australia’s Hume Highway. In Canberra there was a quaint chocolate parlour called Koko Black, which a colleague of mine had raved about. I thought I’d be a nice girlfriend and buy Mr Shit Date a 500 gram dark chocolate bunny. I grabbed the plastic box and placed it delicately on the back passenger seat. I fastened the seat-belt and we were all set for the long drive home. The bunny travelled well and would sit in my house undisturbed for a few weeks waiting for Easter.
The Thursday before kick-off I drove my car to Mr Shit Date’s place before work so it would be waiting there for when we got back to his place after dinner that night. I left my overnight bag and Easter chocolates in the car. I didn’t give things a second thought. In hindsight though, it had been an unseasonably warm day in Sydney.
That night we got back to Mr Shit Date’s and I was shocked when I saw his present. It had melted down from a three-dimensional rabbit into a 2D one. If you had chalk you could have drawn an outline around it and gotten the NCIS guys to investigate the murder of a once-delicious bunny.
Mr Shit Date was kind and laughed about it. Turns out he’d gotten me the exact same dark chocolate rabbit because a Koko Black had just opened up in Sydney’s CBD. He is the winner this time around because he hadn’t had to travel across country for my gift and it had the added bonus of being fully-formed. I felt bad and told him that I’d keep the roadkill bunny and that he could have the good one.
The next morning we woke up and went into the kitchen to have breakfast. Do you know what’s worse than a roadkill bunny? It’s one that has turned white and now resembles a dried dog shit. Just what you’re looking for in an Easter chocolate.
The next year I bought him a chocolate bilby from somewhere local. I really couldn’t bring myself to buy another rabbit, roadkill bunny or otherwise. He bought me a one kilogram fish from Haigh’s chocolates, a joke to my Catholic heritage because we don’t eat meat on Good Friday. I think next year I’ll play it safe and just turn Jewish.