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“I’m dealing with my unexpected social media fame, and trying to think about what I’m going to tell my son when he gets home.”

“Why?” She seems completely unaware.

“Because Mika called him and told him I was sleeping over there!”

“I know, it was cool. They spoke for a while on the phone, and your son had an attitude adjustment and helped me, so please don’t fuck that up. He was nice, not one instance of revolting teenage-ness all night.” I pause to process all that and shrug it off. I will have to talk to him, I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. “Also, King Dickhead is fetching them all straight from school for their weekend away with Miss Congeniality. You didn’t answer so I just went with it.” At least I’ll have the weekend before I need to talk to my son about this. “How’s the fluff-demon?”

“Alive, we can visit this afternoon, but if the kids aren’t here there’s not much point.” I’m a bit disappointed I won’t be going back to see Mika. “Think I’m just going to call the girls and have wine and Mexican take-out night.” I’m in no mood for anything else, maybe if I unpack all this shit I think I might be feeling to them, they’ll get it. Or punch me so I forget it. Either way, I win.

“I want to see the bunny!” she says as if it’s her damn pet. “And the hot piece of ass that drove over her, all my friends are talking like he’s Adonis.”

“He's a hipster twat with an off-brand motorcycle and a married girlfriend, your friends can calm down. He’s a douche-canoe.” She shrugs, her curiosity not satisfied.

“I’ll go get the wine, you call the girls,” she says, taking my car keys. I know she just wants to do a drive-by and see if she can see Asher. “Is it tacky to go buy wine before lunch time on a Friday?” she asks but doesn’t give a fuck either way. Amelia leaves me, and I watch the video again. It makes me emotional so I check the calendar to make sure when my period is.

I can’t even blame that. Fuck.

I contemplate deleting it, because I don't like how it makes me feel, but it’s gone viral, or whatever. Motorcycle-twat-face Asher has shared it on his toktik-thinger, so I leave it there.

I hit video call on our girls’ group chat because I can see they’ve all watched it too.

“Dion, is the bunny okay?” Olivia answers first and seems genuinely worried about Lola. “You know you and the vet are going in a book, this is typical romance at its best.” Her and her sexy imagination are seeing things. Charlotte hops on the call, looking frazzled. “I saw his video, he’s so hot. I think I’m getting a puppy for the kids.”

“He’s with Dion!” Kerry pipes in. “Even if she thinks they’re just banging, he has definitely caught feelings. The talking stage, fucking stage, and any other stages are over. He’s in her coochie and his feels.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Kerry?” It sounds like she knows shit.

“You know, you chat — the talking stage. You fuck, then you catch feelings, then one of you ghosts the other. Modern dating.” Sounds like a shitshow I’m not interested in, thanks.

“Nope.” That’s not us. “We didn’t talk, we fought and fucked. Now we seem to be fighting again, but angry sex is great. Anyway, we can talk more about this shit later. Amelia is getting wine, my kids are with the sperm-donor, and I have a craving for Mexican food.”

“Are you preggers?” Charlotte asks with a snicker.

“Unless my tubes magically untied themselves, no, I’m not preggers. I'm just a week away from my period and want to eat everything I see.” I’m an emotional eater, feelings make me fat.

“Fair enough,” Olivia says. “I can come over early, I’m not exactly doing much.” She’s in pajamas, spinning on her office chair pretending to write a novel.

“I have to fetch Willow after school and drop her off at my parents for the weekend, then I’m in.”

“Ugh — I fucking have court until five today, but I’ll come straight from there.” Charlotte hangs up when someone behind her calls her name. A girl’s night is exactly what I need — no sexy men in sight.

* * *

There’s a knock at the door. I have no pants on, and I have no intention of putting any on. The girls know this is how I roll on the weekend. Well, on most days actually.

“Come in!” I yell from the kitchen. The door opens a crack and I hear, “I have a delivery for ah—” silence, then, “Dion.” I didn’t order anything — I don’t think.

“Just put it in the hallway, thanks!” I yell back. “Do you need a signature?”

“No, ma’am,” is followed by bangs, and bumps, and thuds, and when the door closes and it’s safe to appear sans pants, I go see what the hell it is. There are boxes filling my entire entrance, and I know I didn’t order that. Whatever it is.

“What in the hell?” I can hear Olivia from behind the boxes.

“No idea, I think the UPS guy made a booboo, but he said it was for Dion.”

“The label on this side says Dion,” she says, finding her way through. “It also says some assembly required, did you drink and prime?”

“I don’t think so.” I never know. “What is this thing?” I start moving boxes to create a pathway to my front door. One of them has a picture on it — it’s the mother-fucking-mansion of all bunny cages.

Mika.

Obviously.

Well, it will help when she comes home because I must keep her from running. Lord, it’s like they don't even know my rabbit. “It’s for Lola.”

“Ooooh, we can put it together. Look how cute it is,” Olivia says.

“I have wine!” Amelia yells, coming in the door. “What the fucking-fuck?”

“It’s a bunny cage, we’re going to build it.” Olivia is way too excited about having a project. She has got to get out of her house more. “It’s so exciting. Look, it even has a little bunny lookout. Aww.” Amelia and I both frown at her enthusiasm, but I grab the wine from my sister, and climb through and over boxes to the kitchen.

Four bottles of wine later, and you know what we decide is a good idea? Drunk-assembling the bunny cage with nothing but a pink screwdriver, a hammer and the kitchen knife.

Fits of laughter, spilled wine — what a waste, and very little progress. I hop on my Instagram, the hive mind will know what to do.

“Hey InstaFam, so we are assembling a mansion, no, a castle for the mother-fluffing-rabbit. Some assembly required actually means you will need to be a registered contractor and have an engineering degree — help us Instafam!” I flip so they can see our construction zone. “The sweet vet who saved her life sent her this gift — he could have put it together — but hey, we have the hive mind of the interwebz to help with that. Also, the instructions are in German, I think.” I hold them up to the screen. “Anyone able to read this?” We laugh, drink, and try to follow the pictures. I just about stab Char in the head with a screwdriver. “Don’t drink and screw InstaFam, it’s dangerous.” I've set up the phone where I can see the comments and they can watch us. Four drunk ladies, building a bunny house — what could go wrong?

Oh, wait, we’ve already built Amelia into the cage, and we can’t pass her wine glass through the mesh. It's funnier than it seems.