Til Undeath Do Us Part, Part 39
(I decide to ask my husband ‘the question.’)
Me: “Zombie apocalypse. I get bitten-”
Husband: “Yes, you do. You need eight hours of sleep every night. There’s no way you’re surviving the zombie apocalypse.”
Me: “But what do you do?”
Husband: “I hold you and tell you goodbye and that I love you. And then I stab you in the back of the head, and keep stabbing until I’m done being angry, and then I go find some moonshine.”
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Tell us your story about a customer who couldn't understand the most simple concept.
