Zombies Made Me Cut My Hair

On Wednesday, I cut off five inches of my hair. (From the bottom, of course, duh.) Hair is really the only thing you would want to sever from your body - it would stink to remove five inches of, say, your arm. Or your intestines. (That's a real buzz kill.)

Speaking of removing intestines - I just read THE REAPERS ARE THE ANGELS by Alden Bell, and I loved it. I am such a fan of zombies (those tenacious little monkeys). Has the story of people trying to survive after a zombie apocalypse been done before? Many, many times. But, it's not what you say, but how you tell it that counts, and Bell does it up right. The characters are realistic, the plot never drags and there's tons of gore. Delightful!

Somewhat related: while I was reading REAPERS, I got to thinking - what if there really were zombies? What if, one day, I got up and went downstairs for some juice and - whoa! Zombies! In the book, as in most zombie lore, the monsters are slow moving and easily outmaneuvered. So why do so many people end up as snacks? I'm not even close to athletic and I can't run very fast, but I'm sure I can manage enough of a pace to keep away from them. Unless, of course, they manage to grab a fistful of my hair - MY HAIR! I cannot believe I am going to be brought down in the zombie apocalypse by my long, lovely locks! That settles it - if/when the zombies come, I'm going to chop all my hair off, right before I outfit myself with handguns and a flame thrower.

This thinking progressed into trying to remember the last time I had received a haircut. Which I realized was two years ago. And, so, this is how I came to be holding five inches of detached hair. Sometimes, when I find myself wondering "How did I end up naked in Fruit Loops?" or "Whose blood is this?" I walk myself backwards through the thought process. Inside my brain = SCARIER than a zombie apocalypse. Better hope they eat me first.