I’m Infected. Run far. But you don’t have to run fast.

Some zombies are runners, some walkers, some crawlers. I’m a shuffler.

Here’s my theory:

My husband catches a virus. He puts on his sweats, a stocking cap and slippers and barely moves for an entire week.  I nurse him back to health.

Over that five to seven day period, his body incubates the virus, making ever so minute but ever so significant changes in the viral RNA, so when at last he burns out and infects me, the virus has morphed into some kind of Zombie Superbug.

For which there is no cure.

Seriously.  I can feel it cooking in my body.  I can’t sleep, can’t eat.  Can’t even eat people, not yet.  All I do is shuffle from room to room.  Barely cognizant of my surroundings.

So this is how a budding zombie feels as she succumbs. I can’t imagine ripping someone’s throat out with my teeth. I barely have the strength to lift a glass of juice.

Sorry, couldn’t resist. Too funny.