Zombies, Ice Cubes and Babushkas

What I want for Christmas - Shaun of the Dead Action Figure (with sound!!)

Sean and I were watching one of our favorite movies last night, Shaun of the Dead, when I asked him to promise to chop my head if I ever get zombified. It’s just one of those things I’d like to know I’ve prepared for, in much the same way that I’ve made him promise never to leave me languishing in an iron lung for decades.

I’m not sure if they still use iron lungs, but ever since I read about some polio patient who lived inside one for like, a decade, I’ve had a dread of being stuck inside one. Ditto zombies, only not stuck inside one, of course, but rather eaten by a ravaging pack of them, which I suppose would eventually end up with me inside one, but not in quite the same way.

Sean instantly said he’d NEVER cut my head off, which I thought was very touching.

Instead, he said he’d chain me in the pool house with a stove and a well stocked pantry, in hopes my motor skill memories would kick in and I’d just start baking stuff out of force of habit. I told him that, in that case, I’d make damn sure to get bitten before him, so I could toss him to the first zombie horde I ran into and watch him get divvied up like chum at a shark feeding frenzy.

He replied that if I insisted on eating ice cubes, he’d volunteer to become one of the undead, on the theory that flesh makes less noise when you eat it. That’s when I told him he could kiss cornbread for dinner tonight goodbye.

About the ice cubes, that’s a sort of recent thing. Over the last week, I’ve had the strangest cravings for ice cubes. It’s rather odd – I must be eating at least three trays a day of the damn things. I thought it was because I’d been trying to count calories, but Sean’s nagging led me to do an internet search, and it turns out that women (yes, it’s mostly women) eat ice cubes when they’re anemic.

I find this utterly bizarre – I knew I was anemic, in fact I got an intravenous dose of iron a few weeks ago to counteract it. Looks like it didn’t do the trick, however, so I’ll be back in to see the doctor tomorrow. What I find so bizarre is that, across the world (or at least those parts of it with ice cube makers), there’s an army of women, all craving ice cubes because our iron levels are low.

This, of course, led me to wonder if zombies crave brains because their brain cells are low, thus leading me to speculate that only really stupid people get turned into zombies, which made me feel much better.

I also decided maybe no zombie movies for a while.

Tessa looked so cute and pitiful wrapped up in her blankets yesterday that my first thought was of course “Let’s make her into a LOL Dog!”.  A sad, sad LOL Dog.