Last night I went to put the leftover rice away. I looked at the rice; I got out a container. I looked at the rice again; I got out a different container. It still didn’t work.
My husband thinks it’s funny, but zombies change everything. And a lot of things stop being funny when the world falls to the perambulating dead.
I once wrote a poem about this problem of mine. You’re welcome.
TUPPERWARE AS AN INDICATOR OF SURVIVAL
There are two containers in my fridge
I play it off as if
I had intended all along
The segregation of sauce and noodles.
But the truth will come out
During zombie apocalypse that
Spatial reasoning is not my gift.
It will be exposed as I
Evaluate the expanse
Between me and the zombie
And me and the bunker door
And think to myself
“Oh, yeah, I can totally make that.”