Barbara is beginning to look like a Zombie, and it doesn’t suit her.
It’s nothing to do with me – I mean, I haven’t bitten her or anything (as if I would). It’s our daughter Pittsburgh.
Fact: most people you meet – especially in the morning – who look like Zombies are unlikely to be Zombies. They’re just parents of a young child – or children. Or they’re insurance salesmen.
These pale, gaunt, and half-alive people are not looking for a feast of brains; they’re just desperate for a good night’s sleep.
Pittsburgh is the alarm clock from hell. She turns up every morning in our bedroom, between 5 and 6, tugging at our bedclothes saying “wakey wakey”. We don’t NEED to be up at that time – nobody needs to be up at that time. Particularly at the weekends.
I worry that someday, when news gets out that there is a Zombie in our house – namely, me – then an exhausted Barbara could run the risk of getting her head blown off one morning as she leaves for work. I could easily see our neighbour Paddy doing it, though apart from that he is a very nice man.
It’s happened before – at least on film. In Night of the Living Dead, Ben, who has heroically fought off a Zombie attack through a long night, emerges at dawn from behind the barricades, relieved that he has survived. Unfortunately for him, the sleepless night has made him look pale, tired and drawn: in other words; a bit like a Zombie. Along comes a couple of red-necks with rifles and guess what they think he is?
Bye, bye Ben.
That said, the similarities between parents in the morning and Zombies has its advantages.
Were it not for this quirk, I would not have been able to attend parent-toddler groups, where my undead status has never been an issue. I guess I just look normal to what the rest of them see in the mirror every morning.
Mind you, they do think it weird that I do not partake of the free tea and biscuits. But I’m too polite to ask for brains and I was never too fond of Fig Rolls even when I was alive.