You Rock Zombie Granny

Zombie view of Main Street

"You Rock Zombie Granny!"

I looked around for a second to see who the small animated woman was screaming at.
But, there it was, she was pointing right at me.
Even amid an array of 70 or so undead shuffling, moaning down Main Street, there was no mistaking it.
One of the reasons I had dyed my hair for the last decade was because I didn't want people to always think I was Granny to my daughter. So it flashed in my head for a minute to be mad or embarrassed. But in the last few months, I'd embraced what God gave me and had a wonderful white mane.
So, I pointed in my fan's direction with one listless zombie arm which only made her holler again.
"Zombie Granny!"
In way, it was fitting I was among the risen dead. For the last few years, I'd trudged through life barely breathing. I really thought it was because I was old and fat.
But it turns out it was caused by asthma exacerbated by an allergy to dust. Plus I work in a place where I could literally leave messages for my co-workers with a few swipes of a white glove. So I had constant breathing problems and several bouts of pneumonia.
But, after months of asking and a note from my doctor, I got them to organize a clean up, new medicine and once I could breathe, I started working out at what I called the "old person's gym" where people sometimes worked out hooked up to oxygen or could be seen using a walker to get to a stationary bike.
I fit right in. I had never worked out in a gym of any kind. But, slowly, more minutes added up on the treadmill. More weights were added to the machines. I actually wanted to work out. I felt kind of strong. So when Michael Jackson's Thriller rolled around in my hometown this year, I was all in
Most Moms had a kid in the performance. I did not.
My daughter had too many projects in the air to add another thing. And she had already outgrown her theater stage.
So, in a rare turn of events, I did it just for fun and just for me.
Somehow in the 80s, I never learned the Thriller dance. So after three practices, I was at about 60 percent. I noticed that the troupe leader took to dancing just in front of me so I could right my wrongs.  Maybe it was more like 50 percent.
I did, however, look awesomely bad.

My white hair was flying every which ways, the natural bags under my eyes augmented with gray and green. Blood circling my neck and down the front of my tattered gold dress made from a shredded curtain.
And so I danced three, four times through the whole routine until my breath started to leave me in part because I was fighting a nasty infection and the day before had a reaction to the antibiotic. (I had to go to the ER.)

But I wasn't going to let that stop me. I started dragging myself through the crowd. I photo bombed people taking pictures of the parade. I plucked a feather from a girl dressed like a chicken and put it in my mouth. (I'm not sure that was the most hygienic of choices but I was in the moment) I gave dead-eyed stares to little kids and then gave them a little smile and watch the dread drain away.
A second woman stopped me on my way to the car and asked if she could take my picture because I had scared her so completely.
So, I'll take it.
Rock on, Zombie Granny, Rock on.
What have you done lately, just for fun, just for you?

If you like this or have a thought about it or it made you laugh.....write a comment. We are, seriously, two moms putting themselves out to the world. So join in. It is all for fun. We would really appreciate it.