My wife Barbara is not a Zombie, which makes life a bit difficult – especially when it comes to mealtimes.
For instance, this morning she made up a packed lunch for herself and left me to my own devices. I had to confront her about this.
“Have I not got a mouth?” I said, in reference to the single lunch portion she had made up for herself. “I mean, anytime I make up a salad, I always make enough for two.”
“Yes, but I never eat it,” she retorted.
“Well, that’s just ’cause you’re fussy,” I shot back at her.
“Fussy? There’s mostly raw brains in your lunches.”
My mind drifts for a moment and I think “Mmm…lovely.”
“Well, I’m a Zombie, what do you expect me to eat? And in fairness, I do try to vary it a bit.”
“Yes, you offer a wide selection of raw brains: lamb, cow or pig’s. With a bit of spinach salad on the side.”
Now at this point, I’m salivating, imagining chewing on the frontal lobe of a sow. Yummy.
“So what are you saying?” she says, as she rushes out the door. “That I should make you up a tuna salad too?”
“Tuna salad,” I say, in horror. And the thought of it almost makes me vomit. “That’s disgusting!”