A Tulip's Demise

For the writer's cramp, May 31st

What if everything that could go wrong really did go wrong?
That was the question Joe was asking himself over the cup of coffee. Not necessarily because it had, but- well, it had. Ever since he'd gotten up that morning. It had all started with his daughter Amy, back at 6:23 AM precisely.
"Rabbit! Rabbit!" She bounced on the bed in front of her, pointing out the window with unrestrained glee. Glee that Joe certainly did not share so early in the day, much less on a weekend.
"Bunny?" He pulled himself up with a groan. "Bunny, eh." Then, lowering his voice so she couldn't hear him, muttered "It's not like we see those every morning or something. Definitely not worth waking up at 6:30 for." Louder, "What's his name?"
"Xavier! He's eating the tulips!" She kept bouncing irritatingly. Couldn't she tell he was tired?
"The tulips?" He yanked himself out of bed and pulled open the window to yell at the rabbit. "Yo! Get away from there!" The rabbit refused. Joe thudded down the stairs, sullen, before his foot hit a book and promptly thin air. His head struck the stairs behind him with a thunk as he uttered a yell. But the damage was done and he rubbed the newfound bruise, wincing. There was naught to be done, though, and he dragged his tired and achy body outside - to find the bunny gone along with the tulip heads. Phooey. He dragged himself back inside - to find the bunny jumping around the kitchen with his daughter.
"Amy!" He couldn't help yelling - he was tired! Wasn't that reasonable?
Amy disappeared, crying quietly, but the bunny was not. Clearly, she'd brought the bunny inside and the bunny had decided the ceramic flowered dishes were real flowers. Or at least what had used to be dishes, which were now a jagged mess on the floor. Groaning, he dragged out the broom and swept it all together. Yet another mess to add to his mess of a life. Well, at least now that he was in the kitchen, he could have some coff-
His jaw dropped as he saw the coffeemaker laying on its side, shattered in the running sink. Any hope of sanity went down the drain along with the running water as he collapsed onto the tiled floor, ready for sleep - and hit his head right on the bruise that he'd gotten from the stairwell. The pain yanked him slightly awake, or at least more so, and he realized he'd have to face his fears and trek over to Dunkin' Donuts. Just two blocks, but those two blocks, under sleep-deprived, bruised stress felt like half an eternity as the sun blazed bright right at him in the chipper morning sky.
But finally he arrived and took his place in the line, waiting behind five people for the glorious moment his latte would arrive, and soon enough it was his turn.
"What would you like?" the clearly stressed waitress asked from behind the counter, glancing up at the wide variety of coffee (and donuts) provided above, all sufficiently overpriced. Joe stared at it blankly, ordering his classic. "Cash or check?" Joe patted his pockets before woefully, horribly coming up empty. He realized bleakly that he would have to walk all the way home and back again, with still no coffee.
It passed in a very slow blur, more literally than figuratively. His eyes couldn't see very well without his coffee. But 30 blearly minutes later, he was finally there, wallet in hand - to see the early morning rush, the line backed up even past the store entrance. It'd be a long while... one person ordered, another, finally in the door as another bought 13 different types of donuts... he got to the front and finally got his singular coffee ordered. "It'll be about half an hour," the waitress informed him politely. "We're rather backed up." Joe slumped at a table and figured he might as well take a nap.
He awoke to a lukewarm coffee in front of him and his watch declaring a very late 9 in the morning. Too late for golf and it'd been quite a while since that coffee was hot. Hopefully the caffeine was still working. "Must have been a bad luck bunny..."