Love is a safe place: a place where you can be entirely yourself, sharing your deepest darkest secrets; your hopes and dreams for the future; your most worrisome fears. A place where someone else will royally take the p*ss out of you for their own amusement.
This, my friends, is why our marriage doesn’t watch The Walking Dead. We tried.
I shall set the scene.
It was a cold, dreary winters’ night in Devon (in all honesty I can’t remember if that’s true but it fits). Wind howling, lights flickering intermittently, you get the gist. Mr and Mrs Outside London are sitting in their lounge browsing a new Amazon Prime TV subscription and wondering what to choose to watch on the tellybox to fill the void between Homeland seasons.
M: What do you fancy?
C: Wilfred*loves The Walking Dead, shall we try that?
M, hesitantly: Well….I’ve heard it’s good but you know you don’t like zombies. Remember how much you hated World War Z? And not just because it was utter utter cobblers. It was the zombies. You don’t like ‘em. Why though? Why don’t you like them?
C, ignoring incessant questioning: Yeah but Wilfred* has pretty good taste, we like the same stuff. It can’t be that bad. Can it?
M: Yeah….but….but….the zombies.
C: Meh, let’s do it.
Mr and Mrs Outside London watch season one, episode one. Mrs loves it. Mr feels a bit queasy. They decide to take a break. Mrs exits stage left for a bathroom stop.
Five minutes passes (it was just a wee but she was plotting and cackling to herself in there).
Mrs leaves the bathroom and comes back down the stairs in the style of a Walker: head at a funny angle, slack jawed, arms outstretched, vacant murderous flesh eating eyes. She makes the noise too. You know, the throaty, evil, dead zombie noise.
There is no more dialogue in this story. None that I can repeat to you anyway.
Husband pooped his pants spectacularly, Betty dog turned into a demented, barking protector hound. There was much shouting and barking and all the terror. The wind howled on outside. Mrs went a little hysterical with mirth, doubled over at the bottom of the stairs.
Mr and Mrs Outside London no longer watch The Walking Dead together.
Mrs decided to have another crack at it today and still loves it whilst Mr remains a blissfully zombie free zone.
Blog post not sponsored by Amazon (tax dodging purveyors of all things) or zombies.
How about you and zombies?
*pseudonym, although I do very much wish that I had a friend called Wilfred.
^^ The eagle because, erm….she looks a bit mean?