I’m afraid of zombies. There’s no shame in that so don’t think you’re going to humiliate me by pointing and laughing and telling all my friends on the playground I am a zombie-a-phobe.
Some people are afraid of the dark (count me in) and some people are afraid of heights (color me terrified).
I am horrible scared of zombies.
If you’ve just flown in from the Australian outback where you have lived in a cave with a bone through your nose for your entire life, you may not know what a zombie is. (Politically correct disclaimer! I have some very nice Australian readers, so I do not actually know if people in the Australian outback live in caves with bones through their noses, but I’m sure they are lovely people either way.)
For those of you naively unfamiliar with zombies, Wikipedia defines a zombie as an animated human body devoid of a soul.
I would say that my first husband was by definition a zombie, but in truth he was the exact opposite of animated. Although he was most certainly devoid of a soul, he would not actually qualify to join the Local Zombie #502.
The thing about zombies that most frightens me has nothing really to do with the fact that they are dead people. In fact, I have nothing against dead people at all. Ask anybody. Casper was a dead guy and he was nice. Vampires are dead and I find them highly attractive. (Doesn’t hurt that vampires are always rich, too.)
Conversely zombies appear to have no pride in themselves whatsoever. They are always dressed horribly…clothes all torn and nasty and their hair is perpetually crazy and dirty. Don’t even get me started with their teeth.
Just once I’d like to see a zombie in a nice suit who had taken a couple minutes before walking out the door to eat the flesh of the living to maybe comb his hair or swish a little Listerine.
The thing that totally freaks me out about zombies, though, is the way they walk and make those guttural zombie noises. I threw up a little just now even thinking about it.
Would someone please explain to me why it is necessary for them to always have their heads tilted at a freakish angle, arms outstretched, dragging their feet as if they were wearing cement shoes? I could maybe understand it if their reanimated body were one whose manner of death involved a broken neck or perhaps had suffered from some type of palsy prior to being buried. I mean, sure. You have to play the hand your dealt.
But no one is going to convince me that among the hundreds of thousands of zombies that inhabit the US alone, every single one is occupying a jacked up body. Odds say that at least some of them were great athletes or super models or at least walked straight and held their own heads up before they kicked the bucket.
So why am I so focused on zombies today?
Well for one thing, there was a zombie movie on TV and even though I knew it would make me sleep with the lights on, I watched it anyway. The biggest thing that turned my mind toward zombies however was when my ex-wife-in-law called to tell me all the water currently on the Kansas shore is no doubt going to un-earth all the cemetery dwellers who will then float down Main Street.
I know better. They aren’t going to float. They are going to crawl out of their holes, one boney hand at a time, and walk around in that stupid zombie way searching for decent air-sucking people like me.
For all I know, I could be a zombie by tomorrow morning. That’s how it works, you know. It’s like dead people chicken pox, only there is no lotion that can make you stop being undead. If there were, I would own a barrel full of it and slather it on every night before saying my prayers.
Until these flood waters have subsided and I am notified by State and Federal Officials that the risk of a zombie attack has subsided, I plan on staying indoors and away from windows. If you never hear from me again, know that I went out fighting. If you do hear from me again, but notice my column is loaded with words like, “uuuuuuugggggg” and “gggggggrrrrrrruuuuuummmmm”, step away from your computer and go wash your hands. No sense in you catching it, too.
Copyright © 2004-2007, Sherri Bailey
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