Indeed, we can't go out either, as Pink Daughter is poorly and staying in bed. She was to be the Lead Rabbit in tonight's school play, but some other rabbit will be first to the lettuce-field instead.
[angel, not relevant to rabbit]
It's a sad day for a six year old who had memorized everyone's lines and schemed long and hard to be allocated the best ears, who is peering feebly through the salted white windowpanes at the headlights making their way west: carloads of unfeverish rabbits and their proud parents heading for the parish-hall stage, and glory.
"Life will yield many opportunities to be the Lead Rabbit," I assure her, but she is not convinced.