Coming Out of the Closet

Zombies have terrible memory. I don't recall when I became a zombie but I know I have been one for a long long time. The problem is, that I have never been open about it, until today. I have decided to come out of the closet.

In order to do so, I guessed I need to get into a closet first (so I can come out of it... right?...) so I started my quest to look for the perfect closet to come out of. My first inclination was to use my own closet, but sadly it is very small, as the wife occupies the big ones. I tried to fit into my own closet but it was just impossible. Too small.

The obvious option was to use one of the wife's. Good luck!. They are all full of...stuff. Oh my God. There are things there that she hasn't used for more than 25 years!... there is not even a single square inch available. I went to look for another available closet.

The next one was my teenager's. I almost got killed. As soon as I opened the closet door thousand of estrange objects came out of the closet. Footballs, socks (in ones), old salami pizza, world cup jerseys, magazines, long time forgotten -and assumed escaped- dead pets... there was no space for me to get in.

I moved on to my last resort. The tool closet. Bad idea. It is full of Christmas ornaments, old pictures, more of my wife's stuff, winter skiing clothing (even though we don't ski), the odd tool, cages of the assumed escaped pets, more dead pets and a complete Harry Potter outfit. No space for this sad zombie.

So...here I am, ready to come out of the closet with no closet available to come out of. I am depressed.