I refuse anything but Woolies during any apocalypse

I opened my eyes to silence in a room that had tiny little slivers of light shining through the gaps of black-out curtains.  I frowned while I mentally skipped through a list of things to explain why I had a feeling deep down in my gut that was something was wrong.  Something was very definitely off.  

Jon came tip-toeing through to my side of the bed and hurriedly explained that we’d need to stock up on important items and food things and candles and bottled water and a spade.  To dig with.  Because, you never know when a grave or outdoor bog would come in handy.  I listened on as he explained that we’d need to find a shop that sold a cross-bow, and also that we needed to stop off at a fishing store before heading out of the city before the masses.  I nodded mutely as he explained that we’d plant seeds and find land that allowed space for crops to grow and it would be nearby a river and everything would be okay.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Before all of that we agreed that we’d need to break into a distribution house to get canned soup, gas stoves and camping pots to cook with.  It was at this point that I raised my hand and stood firm.  I would not be raiding a Checkers warehouse, full stop.  It would be Woolies and nothing else, so help me and over my dead body.

Sunday afternoon at 3pm, we’re almost ready to start.  We’ve packed and planned and primped and preened and prepared everything all in our heads.  

Sunday afternoon at 5pm, the sun is setting and the house is getting colder by the minute.  Candles are lit.

Sunday evening at 6pm, I miss electronics, TV, boiling water and the sound of music.  Life is unbearable.

Sunday evening at 7pm, I don’t remember what it was like to have white noise.  Everything is eerily silent and I’ve decided I can never read books again without my iPad.  I make a remark inside my mind that Steve Jobs really wasn’t that smart after all.  What’s an iPad without solar power?

Sunday evening at 7:30pm, life has lost all meaning.  I am in a mental cycle of angst, depression, anxiety and nostalgia.  Life used to be so good.  We just never knew it.



Life went back to normal.

You see, when the lights went off in the early hours of Sunday morning, Jon took offence to the fact that I told him we’d not survive an apocalypse   And so for the last two days he’s been making plans and telling me where and how and what and when we’d do things.

Because he’s adamant we’ll survive.  And even more adamant that through this apocalypse, we will fertilize flowers and seeds and grow our own vegetables and cotton for clothes.

PS: yesterday was Jon’s birthday.  He spent most of it telling me what our apocalypse plans are going to be. Happy 33rd birthday, my old and grey.

I’ll love you even after we’re both zombies.



  1. Jon says:

    Awwwwww… you know the girl is a keeper when she listens to your silly rantings about the apocalypse and doesn’t back away slowly and is never heard from again. Haha. Love you 😀

    PS. One of Sheena’s biggest fears was…. “How will I charge my Kindle? How will I read?!” She received a blank stare, and then I asked whether I was getting so old that I remember when people had BOOKS to read.

    PPS. I had the great idea to raid a library for books, specifically DIY, fishing, craft ones. When you’re done with them you can use them for bartering. Double win!

    PPS. Stop backing away from me. I’m normal. Promise. I think.

  2. Flarkus says:

    The “planting crops” bit and being near water is a new survival tactic for me. Usually it’s all shotgun shells, baseball bats and clean water.

    Very cool!

  3. Angel says:

    I think an Apocalypse would drive me insane. I wouldn’t even have to be bitten by a zombie to turn me into a drooling, shuffling mess…

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