Army of Darkness

I'm living in a different kind of world.  A world where vitality and stamina aren't really going to take you to the top.  Where being young makes you the underdog.  A world ruled by the undead...the elderly.  It's like a different breed of Zombies.  I never am, but I'm sure that if I was up at 5 am there would be packs of them out slowly shuffling and limping their way down the avenue next to our house in search of their brand of human flesh: the early bird special.  Instead of rising at nightfall they rise at dawn and bed again before dusk.  The landscape is punctuated with these undead.  The sun setting at night is all but blocked out by the giant parking lots pushing their sarcophagus of choice: the RV.  These monsters occupy full city blocks each promising a bigger vehicle for less money for the driver whose vision is less than perfect.  Perfect for me, the driver in the little car next to them.  They are very exclusive those un-dead.  They live in their own communities with quiet safe streets until dawn of course when they trip over each other pushing for the exit and the dry desert air.  It's just like a scary movie when in the moment of despair every direction you turn there are Zombies bearing down on you.  Parking at the grocery store you turn to open the door and BAM old woman shuffling past.  You jerk your head quickly to the other side only to be confronted with a Jazzy chair.  The other day at Home Depot I became dizzy and disoriented from whipping myself around so much trying to avoid them.  WHAM!  Man in overalls.  POW!  Trucker hats and suspenders.  And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse I was confronted with the most scary thing of all:  a geriatric biker gang.  There they were in the parking lot of Lowe's turning it into some seedy section of town whipping out their blood pressure cuffs to get a reading before zipping onto the highway on their mad machines.  You haven't seen it all until you've seen 10 men and women over 60 wearing tank tops and leather vests.   

(I took this from a distant, I didn't want to risk angering them)

Well folks, I had almost seen it all until the other day when I was roaming the aisles of my local Trader Joe's and heard the distinct lull of a Swiss accent which was quickly validated as I turned to look and heard the Swiss undead ask where the Muesli was.  Bingo!  The Swiss just can't get enough of that Muesli.  But I couldn't tear my eyes away.  She wasn't the typical undead in stretch-waist pants with thick soled walking shoes and a sun visor on.  No, she was a mutation.  She had on bright pink sweatshorts, very short I might add, to accent her VERY deep caramel tan and white tee with matching pink jacket.  Her silvery-grey hair was neatly swept up into a bouncy ponytail directly on the top of her head in the middle accented with a pink scrunchy.  It was like a silvery fountain cascading all over her head.  And the piece de resistance was the stretchy head band she was wearing like a sweat band across her forehead and around the back of her head made of what can only be described as the same material jelly shoes are made of in a web pattern in what other color?  Pink sparkles of course.  Absolutely mesmerizing.  I was trying so hard not to stare but I could. not. turn. my. head.  Until she stared me straight in the eyes and I got a ghastly flash of her playing tennis in her undead community and I pulled myself out of it.  

You know I'm not that into Zombies.  I won't watch movies with Zombies unless it's Shaun of the Dead and only twice a year because it is still pretty gruesome even though it is pee your pants funny at times.  But I don't mind the undead.  I mean they are not really dead if they are the UN-dead right?  It's like the potion man said in Princess Bride.  They are just mostly dead.  And that's something I can live with.  Ha, get it?