Zombies

The zombies were clawing at the door of the bathroom this morning. My wife called out in terror (or was it resignation?), "Don't you have anything better to do?"
The zombie went down his List Of Things To Do:

1. Shamble about
2. Scratch frantically at locked doors
3. Moan
4. Eat human flesh

"Nope," replied the zombie, and he went back to scratching frantically at the locked door. And so another day begins in the Caven household.

Sometimes what amounts to human closeness is protracted silliness. The public displays of affection sometimes appear in the most ridiculous ways. I know that I bring this from my childhood, where my mother's three sons would express their love for her by lightly patting her on the head and saying, "Bonka, bonka." These kind of things have shown up for years and have alternated between sincerity and abuse, and I'm more than certain that any clinical psychologist would have a field day with the oddly demonstrative aspects of all of our relationships.

But we are not all emotionally retarded. When we kiss and hug, we mean it, and we laugh until we cry more than we cry at all. It's just an awful good thing to know what to do when the zombies show up.