I suspect that my husband secretly kinda maybe sorta believes the world is gonna end on December 21st.  He keeps slipping it into random conversations:

Me:  I signed up for Amazon Prime.  Now I can get free two-day shipping on all our Christmas gifts.  Cool, huh?

Him:  December 21st.

Me:  Stop it.

Him:  Just sayin’.

So the world is gonna end in 24 days.  That’s fine.  The thing is, I would like to know for sure before I get all this Christmas hoopla started.  Also, I would like to be assured that when we go, it’ll be quick.  Really quick.  Like, one minute I’m scooping out the cat boxes and the next I’m not doing anything.  Actually, I don’t need to be reassured of that because I’ve already decided it will be thus, and that’s that.  Gill is more dubious.

Him:  What if it’s not immediate?  What if there’s…radiation poisioning?

Me:  What will that mean?

Him: A slow, agonizing death.

Me:  Oh.  I wanna go quickly.

Him:  Are you saying our December 21st preparation should be buying a gun and three bullets?

Me:  Wow.

Him:  Just sayin’.

I suspect my husband may want to survive the impending apocalypse.  I am in no way down with that.  I have no desire to be dirty and wild-eyed all the time.  I don’t want to kill my own food, build fires and find water sources.  I don’t want to fight zombies.  I don’t want to re-build.  It’s not that I don’t know how do any of that.  I mean, I don’t, but even if I did, how exhausting.  And tedious.  And awful.  I don’t want to live without central air or grocery stores or powered transportation.  I just don’t.  I just want to go.  I’m too tired.

Yet, if Gill wants to build a bunker and give it a shot, what can I do?  I have to decide what to take into the bunker.  Things that will ease the pain of dealing with naturally dried hair and no cable.  Here’s what I came up with:

1.  All of Evie’s toys.  Every single one.  There’ll be long days in the bunker and no Doc McStuffins or X Factor to distract her.  I don’t care if we have to leave behind food to make room.  Every single one.

2.  The ugly but comfortable underwear.  What does it matter anymore?

3.  Ear plugs.  All of Evie’s toys, including the beepy ones, and my husband’s deviated septum will be coming with us.  Things are going to get loud up in the bunker.

4.  As many Costco-sized packages of toilet paper as will fit.  After it runs out, we will revisit my “gun and three bullets” suggestion.

5.  Diet Coke, coffee, wine, Nutella and Cheetoes.  Obviously.

6.  Battery-powered Christmas lights and various other decorative materials.  There’s no reason a post-apocalyptic world can’t be fabulous.

7.  All of the books in my house that I haven’t read.  I’ll line them up in milk crates against the back wall of the bunker and continue to keep meaning to get to them.

8.  The cats.  I’ve heard they ward off zombies.  If not, we’ll wear them as hats.

9.  One of those country-cute plaques they have at Cracker Barrel to hang over the door of the bunker.  I’m  thinking either “We’re Out of Water, Too!” or “I’d Rather Be at the Rapture”.

10.  All of the $500 million I won in the Powerball.  We’ll burn it, bill by bill, in the wood stove and laugh together in that high-pitched, shaky way crazy people do.

I was right.  It sounds awful.

 

P.S.  Muchas gracias to KeAnne.  Her post from today inspired this one.  Still copying off your paper like a champ, Ke.

 

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