So I’ve been reading a lot of zombie books lately. Like, a ton.
Okay, two, but zombies are always on my mind but when I’ve spent two days immersed in the terror that is zombie infestation, it does weird things to my brain.
Example: My new pet peeve I just discovered today.
I e-mailed my husband an hour ago about how I should’ve quit instead of coming back after a semi-unexpected 2.5 days off. (I new I’d be out yesterday and this morning, but Monday was a surprise bought of the tummy bug … so I was not prepared for the absence)
I send a new e-mail, basically saying I can’t have a subject line “should’ve quit” popping up all day and asking if our daughter decided to wake up.
I thank him for responding in monosylobic grunts (because I’m still digging through two point five days of e-mails … and I’m a bitch)
And he doesn’t respond.
I ask if my sister is there.
I bitch about getting no response.
And get no response.
I text my sister.
At this point, in my zombie addled brain, there is only one explanation.
So, long story short, my new pet peeve is not responding to my messages while I’m reading books about zombies. Your lack of communication leads my overtaxed mind down a darkened alley. Where it’s then ATTACKED BY ZOMBIES AND TORN TO SHREDS SO IT DOESN’T EVEN GET TO COME BACK FROM THE DEAD BECAUSE THERE ISN’T ENOUGH OF IT LEFT.
THANKS A LOT DICKS FOR NOT INCLUDING IT IN THE BRAIN CHOMPING FUN.
Also, I’d like to point out that my family is fine. My sister was driving to work and my husband was trying to find “the tiny blue cup.” A micro mini punch cup that came with a my little pony.
He’s still looking.