Me: Meds have made me slow–i left my computer at my parents’ house.  I never do that.  Send brains.

Kathleen: A request for brains makes me suspect that you are not slow, but rather zombie.  Am now rethinking your visit to Minneapolis.

Me: Surely even zombE. J. is welcome, if he comes dressed in a shining golden robe?

Kathleen: Well, I suppose if zombE. J. is wearing the fabulous robe…

But then, some time later, on Twitter…

Keffy:  Additionally, I seem to have come down with an acute case of The Dumb. Please send brains.

Kathleen:  Hmm.  This is an astonishingly zombie-like request.  Are you, perhaps, tweeting from the washing machine?*

Me: Man, whenever anyone puts out a perfectly innocent request for other people’s brains, you start throwing the z-word around.

Kathleen:  1. Requests for other people’s brains are never perfectly innocent. 2. You’re both coming to visit.

And this is true.  Both Keffy and I are going to be visiting Minneapolis later this month.  At the same time.  But it would be foolish–utterly and completely absurd–to think that we were, like, advance scouts for some kind of wacky zombie invasion or something.  Laughable.  There is no cause for alarm.

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*Kathleen is refering here to Keffy’s story “Machine Washable,” which will be appearing in issue 6 of Sybil’s Garage.