Well, Zombie Tuesday finally came and bit me on the ass.

Do we all remember the brief rundown on the pros and cons of our cats being zombies that I jauntily posted this past Zombie Tuesday? I thought I was so clever with my masterful photoshopping of our little boys into ravening ghouls, I awarded myself four cookies. And then I ate the cookies while doing a little dance. The dance was quite elaborate.

Well, later that night I was in the kitchen with My Lovely Wife. I was starting supper. She was checking through our mail. Suddenly, her head pops up, as if she has just remembered something, and then her arm swings out and whacks me on the shoulder.

My Lovely Wife: You jerk! You’re horrible!

Me: Ow.

My Lovely Wife: I can’t believe you did that to our boys!

Me: Ow. What? Oh… the zombie picture. Heeheehee! [Ed Note: Yes -- I actually giggled. Hell, I practically tittered.] Funny, eh!

My Lovely Wife: NO! It was horrible! Look at them! Look how sweet they are! Now all I can think of is their poor little zombie faces! That was horrible! You’re a jerk!

Me: Bu-

My Lovely Wife: Jerk!

And so I looked down at out two boys — who, as we were in the kitchen, were also in the kitchen in the vain hope that we might actually give them food.

And our two boys both looked at me.

And I thought about the picture.

And I felt really bad.

And I thought about the picture some more.

And then I giggled again.

And then I felt even worse.

And that’s how they week has gone. I’ll call the boys zombies and then I will giggle. Then they’ll look at me. And then I’ll crawl into a deep hole of shame.

Thanks, Zombie Tuesday. Thanks a lot.

Lately, I’m feeling a little like this boot.

Sitting on the tracks as everything shoots past me.

Let me elaborate:

Sitting on the tracks — with no opposable thumbs… or legs… or any visible means of locomotion… or even a flicker of sentience… since I am just a freaking boot sitting on the tracks — as everything shoots past me.

Too much work, not enough time, and coffee has just stopped working.

Meh.

You know what doesn’t work like it does in cartoons?

Toothpicks propping your eyelids open.

That so totally hurts.