House Of The Dead

(When driving, my family often points out house or land that we’d love to have. When driving in the Hill Country of Texas, this is even more frequent. We come up on this beautiful white house atop a green grassy hill with two old oak trees and surrounded by green rolling hills and pastures. It looks like something out of a painting. When I see it I actually gasp aloud.)

Mom: “What? What is it?”

Me: “Oh, nothing serious, sorry. But look at that house on the hill up there! It’s gorgeous!”

(Mom silently observes it as we near it. As we pass it, she still hasn’t said anything.)

Me: “Mom?”

Mom: *narrows eyes before shaking her head* “No, no. That won’t do.”

(I stare at her a moment before asking.)

Me: “Uh, what?”

(She glances at me as though I’m dumb.)

Mom: “It’s not defendable.”

Me: *blink slowly* “Not… defendable?”

Mom: *exasperatedly sighs* “Yes, [My Name], from zombies.”

Me: “Mom, I think you need to lay off The Walking Dead for a while.”