The Would-Be Zombie Hunter

"I need a shotgun," I said to the cashier as I dumped my pistol on the counter. "This puny little thing won't do."

She looked at me, then at the diminutive plastic toy from the "Cowboys and Native Americans" collection.

"For my costume," I clarified, in case there was any doubt.

"I...don't think we can sell those," she said.

It was as I'd feared. Party City had all sorts of barbarian swords, bloodstained axes, machetes, and of course Freddy Krueger gloves...but the only thing vaguely resembling a projectile weapon looked...well, like something out of a Cracker Jack box.

"I'm a zombie hunter," I confided in her. "This thing is not going to be very effective against zombies."

She gave me a Look. There was also a Pause. I'm quite used to both of these; they usually accompany me telling an unsuspecting citizen that I used to work for a motorcycle magazine (they use the Look and the Pause to figure out if I'm a motorhead and where my tattoos are hidden). This girl, I'm sure, was wondering who let her out of the straitjacket?

The clerk cleared her throat. "I'm sure you can handle any zombie problems on your own, miss."

When in doubt, resort to flattery. I can appreciate that.

The only thing this unfortunate little weapon had going for it was that it came with a holster. Okay, cool - assuming I could figure out how to strap it to my leg without breaking it (I should add that it's probably made for nine-year-olds), maybe I could spray-paint it black? Oh, there was also the issue that there was only one left. It was now or never...and some kid in a cowboy hat was eying it.

I bought the silly little pistol and its holster. I figured I could spin a tale of the gun rusting, or getting so coated in blood and baking in the sun that it just turned...orange.

Of course, once I got home I realized that it was 90-something degrees and no way was I going to survive as Zoey in a red hoodie, gun or no gun. So I dove back into my closet and dug out a skirt and Yet Another Hot Topic Leftover From My Abortive Goth Phase. And that, mi amigos, was it.

The gun is still sitting in its package. I wonder if Party City takes returns on junky weapons...