So I was sorting and packing ammo the other day for long term storage. I do a lot of trading and local online purchasing, and most of the time what I get is loose or in cans, so I often enlist the help of my soon-to-be-five year old daughter. Little girls are much more observant than boys, at least that's how my kids are, so she constantly talks about the differences between the various ammo, calibers, and can usually even sort ammo by manufacturer without a sweat. All the while just yammering away like little girls do. The she goes quiet. She's never seen this before. Black shells with green writing on them. She's all over it asking what makes them different than the red ones that she's putting into the same can. Why are they black? Why do they have green writing. What are they called? Who makes them? So I explain things and along the way, mention that Z stands for Zombie like in the movies.

Dead faced, she turns to me and asks "Daddy, why do we need zombie bullets if zombies aren't real and just on the TV". Of course, I confirmed that zombies aren't real and that it's just marketing blah blah. She seemed ok with it and we went back to sorting, counting, bagging, packing... and yammering. Lots of yammering. Well, at about 1215 I hear my bedroom door creak open and I see the top of her head just above my bed as she makes her way around to my side. Apparently, after dinner, she recounted the story of the "zombie bullets" to her 8 and 15 year old brothers, who thought it wise to tell her how the zombie apocalypse was going to play out.

She was able to hold out alone in her room until her tablet died, and then she decided to climb into bed with us (presumably to have better access to the zombie bullets). Anyone who's ever had to share a bed with a 5yo, knows my pain. After school, the 8 and 15 year olds will certainly know my pain and then some. The shells shoot nice, but they keep me up at night.