“Excuse me, miss, you have a hare on you,” the magician said to my friend, Bailey.

Assuming he was just hitting on her, I kept walking.

“Oh my goodness, a bunny!” she said. He had pulled out a sponge bunny from behind her back.

I don’t trust magic. Matter cannot be created or destroyed, so magic can’t be real. It’s just freaky stuff people do because they’re good at keeping secrets. As much as I tell myself it’s not real, though, after I see it I’m always afraid they’re going to pop up while I’m using the bathroom or picking my nose.

When he started changing the number of bunnies in her palm, I knew it had to stop.

“I’m going to vomit,” I said.

“Excuse me?” the magician asked.

“I said, I am going to vomit on you because this is so freaky,” I said, a bit slower so he could understand. Did I have to spell it out for him? If he did not return the rabbits to their proper form and tell us his secret, I actually thought I was going to get sick.

So I walked away and stood in the corner until they were finished.