This would be embarrassing if it didn’t make for such a good story. So this past weekend, my survival horror video game partner, we’ll call her ‘J,’ was over in celebration of her b-day and so there was the obligatory ‘take you out to dinner for your birthday’ situation. I was even willing to sit through the torture of a sushi restaurant since she loves it and I can order like cooked chicken or something normal and parasite free, but we downgraded, and luckily me, she and my partner Danny ended up at a seafood dive that actually cooks its fish. I, of course, ordered a burger and fries. They, of course, ordered fricking lobster and clams or something slimy like that. I spent the whole time trying to protect my Burger King-esque meal from flying lobster flesh. Blech.
I also had to keep my eyes diverted from the limb tearing and flesh sucking feast. Gross. I mean, if you have to eat an animal, let someone else do the slaughtering so that it comes out in a cute little patty on a bun for you. Well, as a result of keeping my eyes closed to all the disemboweling going on around me, I stuck a ketchup covered French fry in my mouth, bit down hard…and saw stars! Okay, maybe they were more like starfish. Somehow, I managed to shove my own ketchup covered finger into my own mouth with my fry and sank my own teeth into my own tender flesh. This has to be the most heinous act ever. I could not BELIEVE the pain. Amazingly, I did not break the skin, but the throbbing was so bad it led to yet another distraction from enjoying my burger and fries. And then my mind got to wandering, thinking of the horrible possibility of piercing the flesh with teeth.
I looked at J and said, “You know, I am in SO much pain from biting my finger—“
“That you can’t imagine how bad it would hurt if you were eaten by zombies,” she finished matter-of-factly.
“Yes!” I cried.
“I knew you were going to say that,” she replied. “That’s my worst nightmare.”
This was a straight up serious conversation for us, so imagine our surprise when my partner Danny starts laughing and rolling his eyes at our discussion.
Some day he’ll learn. He enjoys occasionally stumbling over to me while I’m sitting on the living room couch with his arms raised in front of him and groaning “Brains. BRAINS!” I keep telling him I’m not like those wooses in the movies who can’t bring themselves to blow away their loved ones even though they’ve become ravenous zombies. I keep warning him, “If you cry zombie too often, someday it’s going to be YOUR brains, and they’re going to be splattered all over your nice 46” flat screen television over there.”
Fricking zombie skeptics.