Invite a Zombie to dinner

It wasn’t the half-eaten heads littering her backyard that upset Grandma. Nor the splintered backdoor. It was the bad manners. 

 

"Ugg!" shuddered Grandma. She retrieved her lace fan from her bag and with a disgusted look on her face, cooled herself. "Those unruly zombies ate with their hands. There is no call for them to be eating with their hands at all. I shall teach them the benefits of knives, forks, and napkins."

"Grandma, I don't think zombies are interested in improving their table manners."

"Pish," she said. "They are in dire need of training." Pointing her fan at me, "I am appointing you as my Aide-de-Camp. Go get the bear traps and shotguns. We are going recruiting students."

I scrunched up my face, "What's an Aide-de-Camp, Grandma?"

"It's a fancy name for a ten-year-old granddaughter helping her grandmother catch zombies."

I couldn't help but smile. Me, an Aide-de-Camp. It's like I was knighted. 

"But Grandma," I sputtered, "you're retired. Shouldn't you be knitting or something? Besides, didn't you say you are tired of teaching?"

"Hmph, never mind that. Once a teacher, always a teacher." She rapped me on my forehead with her fan, "Let's get started."

Grandma picked a shady spot in the park down the road from her house. We baited the trap with chunks of fat-soaked pig brains. We sat on a nearby park bench.

The first zombie came by, reached in with his hands and BANG, the trap snapped. The zombie stopped a moment, then just looked at his stumps and continued to try for the bait.

"You know Grandma, maybe bear traps are a bit too much here. You can’t teach a zombie table manners if he has no hands."

"I see what you mean," nodded Grandma. She stood, fired her shotgun, blowing off the zombie's head. "Let’s go with a net trap."

We were lucky, we found an old fishing net in Grandpa’s workshop.

The next day, we set up the trap in the park. Grandma laid out a tablecloth on a picnic table, the fat-soaked pig brain on a dinner plate with accompanying knife, fork, and a white cloth napkin. The net was suspended overhead on four ten-foot poles.

We hid behind a clump of rose bushes for an hour or so. A zombie approached the dinner plate and reached for the bait. Grandma, pulled the trip cord and the net fell on the zombie. The zombie ate the bait, stood up and walked away, ripping the net.

"You know Grandma, I think Grandpa’s net was for catching small fish. We need something stronger, like for catching marlin or something like that."

"This is so annoying," said Grandma as she chase the zombie and blew his head off. "Since we have a school of zombies, we will use fishing tackle."

"Oh Grandma, that was lame!"

A quick trip to the outdoor sporting goods store in town yielded heavy duty tackle that would have easily nailed a great white shark. Bit of an overkill if you ask me, but that's Grandma for you.

The next morning we chained the fishing rod to a high branch of a large pine tree. The bait hung on a hook, about eye level. We waited in the tree. Along came a zombie. He swallowed the bait in one gulp. Hooked! The zombie tried to walk off but the fishing line held. We had our first student.

Thus began the world renowned Grandma's Finishing School for Zombies.