Lucky me, I was ordered by a doctor to take a blood test. Although my mother would argue that I pass out when I get my blood taken, getting my blood tested really doesn’t bother me that much. I’m not afraid of needles, but at the same time, I’m not fascinated by a needle going into my arm, and watching blood being drawn from my vein. So, I usually just turn the other way, while the blood is being collected.
Here’s the zombie deal.
I’m not allowed to have any food for 12 hours before my test.
I don’t finish work until about 10 p.m. and it takes me about 30 minutes to get myself home. This means that I start making dinner, oh, at about 11 p.m. This brings me around to about 11:30 before I’m done stuffing my face. I have a beverage or two after a meal, taking me into midnight.
Now, I’m thinking, okay, Saturday morning I’ll wake up, skip the zombie coffee, watch television or something, and be at the clinic for 12 noon.
Well, it was a solid plan. Or so I thought. Up early on Saturday, I head off to the art store to pick up some acrylic medium retarder, and then I make it to the clinic at a perfect 11:50 a.m.
Why is the door locked? Why do I see a sign saying the clinic closes at 12:00 in the afternoon?
Because ZOMBIES AREN’T WELCOME and NEITHER IS THEIR SUFFERING ZOMBIE BLOOD!