Preparing for the end

Enough was enough. It was time to wrestle back reason is this current season of fear, flu, and insanity. Which is why, a group of like-minded women of similar interests, decided to meet in order to map out a game-plan detailing how to successfully conduct ones-self in the event of quarantine or uprising. Anyone foolish enough to listen to or believe the media is not surprised to learn that we are in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. And we want to be prepared. What does one wear in the event of a zombie apocalypse? What scents most successfully repel said zombies? What weapons should we wield?

Naturally, the task of organizing such an important event fell to Felicia, my Zumba instructor. She is, after all, the most qualified to out-run an army of the undead. She has LOTS of experience with the mostly dead as I spend a large percentage of each class sprawled, lifeless, on the floor. Mindful of local, state, and federal ordinances cautioning the accumulation of large gatherings, I was trepidatious about attending such a controversial committee. But taking a deep breath, I concentrated on those historic wise words, The ends justify the means, as I drove to Felicia's house. Parking in the driveway, I bravely approached her front door, knocked and entered. Spotting several party-sized pizzas, I continued into the house, surprising Nana, who was seated in the kitchen. I greeted her warmly, introducing myself...thinking how nice it was of Felicia to include her grandmother in such a private and delicate matter as zombie apocalypse preparation. "Where is everyone?" I asked. Looking slightly confused, Nana told me they were upstairs. O-kay. Up the stairs of the quiet house I ventured, my instincts telling me that something was VERY, VERY wrong. I haven't been trained for this, I thought as I reached the landing and began my inspection of the many photographs of Felicia, looking rather gangsta (her...not me). Suddenly a door opened and Felicia's mother appeared. Upon seeing me, she screamed. Then I screamed.  Hmmm. Turns out I'd missed a memo. The meeting was being held at Lauren's house. I sighed. I was certain to be the first one killed in the zombie apocalypse.

After touring Felicia's room (I admit to some worry about an individual who neglects making her own bed leading an uprising of women but pushed those worries...and Felicia's laundry...aside as I made myself comfy under her covers), I hopped back into the truck. The only one who responded to my desperate call for directions was, of course, Erin, who, between dainty giggles and great guffaws, ground-guided me in.

Let me first say, that the food at a Zombie Apocalypse Preparation party, though questionably-shaped, is TO DIE FOR.  I briefly wondered why we were eating Peppa Pig cookies but they were so yummy that I forgot to ask. Our guide began by instructing us that our right arms would be assigned for smelling and the left for tasting. Obviously, this caused me great concern. "I thought the point of this party was how to avoid being eaten," I whispered, cocooned safely on the couch between Erin and Traci. "Well...at least your arm," Erin whispered back, giving me a reassuring wink.  Thankfully, she began taking meticulous notes because the rest of the evening was a blur. As the senior members of the gathering, Erin, Traci, Tess, Cassie, and I were less interested in the frills ("In the end, does it really matter if it's a snap or velcro-enclosure?" we mused) and were instead focused on the big guns. I did briefly interrupt a tutorial on the effective use of a numbing agent by snorting derisively. The crowd fell silent. "Look girls," I explained, "I'm fifty years old. I've had a lifetime of experience building up to this moment. I am IMMUNE."

The couch committee took over as the contraptions cropped up. "Nothing powered with double or triple A batteries," I waved dismissively. When told most of the tools were re-chargeable, I scoffed. "Yeah? How long a charge does it hold?" I demanded. I'd been burned before. But even the couch committee quieted in the imposing presence of the Main Attraction. The weapon to end all weapons. When fired to full-capacity, it spun like a propeller. We were stunned. Shocked. Was that even LEGAL? "I'd need to take out a second mortgage on my house," I murmured as Erin read the catalog to Traci and me.  The three of us headed to the inner chamber to place our orders. I listened, astonished, as Traci was up-sold on her intended order. "There are desperate times," she shrugged practically, "We need to be prepared and stock up."  She's right, of course. Forget stocking up on toilet paper and bottled water. If you're not ready with your zombie apocalypse preparation weapons, then you've really blown it.