do zombies like girl scout cookies?

I never seem to spend enough time with my kids.  They all have lives of their own now, and I don’t play that big a part on a day to day basis anymore.  Oh, I try.  I am very hip and cool for a Mom.  But they often give me the hint that perhaps I should make myself scarce.  The girls are a little more forgiving when I butt into their friendships, but then again, they still rely on me for rides, money and permission—and, yeah…I am just that cool!  My son on the other hand, is fairly self sufficient.  He still relies on me for some things, (a roof over his head, a stocked refrigerator, and free cable) but at twenty, he feels as if he is all the way grown up and does not need his mother joining in on his play dates—or his Facebook page, apparently—which is why I was so pleased to have spent some quality time with him stuck in traffic today. 

Our topic of conversation veered into the path of flesh eating zombies. 

My son is an expert on zombies.  He could write a book on surviving a zombie attack.  We have mapped out every escape route in our house, planned out the best places to survive, what supplies we will need to have on hand, and what weapons are best suited for self defense.  I have been well schooled on the zombie’s weak spots in the event I am forced to attack.  I have often said that I only run when chased by zombies, but according to my son, I wouldn’t get very far on foot, and should have a substantial vehicle to escape zombies. (It does more damage when you run them down.)   He has seen to it that we are ready for the imminent invasion!

But, we didn’t start the conversation talking about zombies.  We started talking about how stealthy he was.  I was somewhat skeptical—I am far too clumsy to be stealthy—and considering his gene pool, I was doubtful of his ability to be as sneaky as he claimed to be.  (He is over six feet two inches tall, and probably weighs close to two hundred and forty pounds.)

That was when he pulled out a yellow lollipop with a wide grin and announced that he had lifted it from my office.  Mind you, I was unaware that I even had a yellow lollipop in my office.  I was only aware of the two boxes of Girl Scout cookies (Samoas) that he hijacked from my desk this afternoon.  But there was nothing covert about that operation.  He just walked into my office, spotted the familiar purple boxes and announced that, “I’ve read your blog.  You don’t need any more cookies!”  He said this as he grabbed both boxes and spun on his heels to head out the way he came in.  I didn’t put up a fight.  I was at the bank—I didn’t want to alert anyone to the seriousness of my cookie addiction—plus I still had two boxes of Thin Mints, and two boxes of Do Si Dos that must have escaped his notice while he was lifting the yellow lollipop. 

He pulled the wrapper off the lollipop and went on to tell me he was as stealthy as a ninja.  To which I said, “ah…the ninja zombie hunter.” 

He immediately set out to clarify.  “Are you saying that I’m a ninja zombie, who hunts?  Or am I a hunter who hunts ninja zombies.  Those are very specific distinctions.”   

Of course they are.  I should have known.

I just stared ahead at the traffic.  I didn’t know which distinction was the right one.  I thought it would be sort of cool to have a lone zombie, roaming the Earth, dressed in a ninja suit…doing ninja things. 

“No, I would be the zombie hunting ninja!”  He corrected, as if he could hear my thoughts. 


I actually wonder sometimes where my kids get their quirkiness from.  And then I remember that I keep a spreadsheet documenting the frequency of wearing my underwear inside out.   (It is only for science, I promise!)

I’m really very lucky to have a twenty year old that is as bright as he is…and witty.  He gets the joke.  He knows that being a zombie encyclopedia is strange, but he doesn’t care.  He just likes zombies.  He will be the first one to poke fun at himself over the strangeness of it all. 

Sort of like his mother. 

Until the next time…I’ll be boarding up all the doors and windows!

Copyright © 2000-2018, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.
Posted on February 26, 2010 .