[image title=”Kat Johnston art: Awwww… its two bunnies, and they’re having fun… at the carnivale!” size=”large” id=”1001″ align=”center” alt=”Kat Johnston art: Awwww… its two bunnies, and they’re having fun… at the carnivale!” linkto=”viewer” ]

Lookie lookie! I drew some more bunnies, and they’re cuuuuute. Yes, I just used ‘cute’ with way to many u’s because they really are just that incredibly cute.

Ahh, what to say about this picture? Not much, really – there isn’t a heap to tell. Its just two little bunnies, having their bunny fun in a way only bunnies can… And while one is wearing a crown, the younger is toting along a balloon.

Balloons are fun things, aren’t they? I love them. My husband, however, hates them. I think it is my own fault. You see, on my 18th birthday, my hubby (who was not my hubby at the time) came to visit. The day before, I decided I would have my own little way of celebrating. My way of celebrating? Over four hundred balloons, all inflated with the air of my own lungs and thrown on the floor of my room. I had enough to cover up to the edge of my bed, or, with a bit of effort, my entire bathroom… from top to toe. I didn’t have a party, or drink myself into a stupor… that’s really just not my way of doing things. However a gigantic amount of balloons and the ability to kick them around the room with a joyous, girlish giggle? Hell yeah.

Anyhow, long story short, my celebration, whilst awesome to me, was not quite so agreeable to my hubby-to-be. He had to sleep on the ground that night, because I only had a single bed. Apparently the balloons had their wicked way with him. He’s had a phobia of them ever since. I love my man, but for my 25th, I think I might do eight hundred. Perhaps an even thousand. I just need to find a way to smuggle them into the house and inflate them before he gets home from work one day. Wish me luck, ok?