“Woo hoo, Tiger! Woo hoo! I’m a talkin’ to you hoo!”

Tiger smiled weakly and went back to his book. I knew what he was trying to do: ignore me, but not so blatantly that he’d get penalized for Mother Abuse. He’s getting really good at this lately.

Of course, I can’t resist tweaking such heroic manliness. Just ask Hubby.

I held up a paperback. “Hey, Tiger!” I said, “do you think the founding member of the Zombie ‘Surviver’s’ Club would be interested in How To Survive a Robot Uprising: Tips on Defending Yourself Against the Coming Rebellion?”

“Eh.”

“Eh” could easily mean no, but I was in a sunny mood. When Squirt showed up I handed him the book.

“Please, Mom,” he protested, “like a robot invasion could ever happen…”

My mouth fell open.

“…within the next 50 years.” He tossed the book back on the table. “Wah!” he gasped, grabbing another book, “The Official Ninja Book! Now THIS is what you call useful.”

I snapped my mouth shut.

Tiger snorted. “Hey, Squirt, maybe you’ll get lucky and there’ll be a zombie AND a robot invasion.”

Squirt’s eyes got a faraway look in them. “Man,” he said. “That’d be cool. On one hand, we probably prefer the robots to win, because the zombies, well! The zombies!” He paused to reflect. “On the other hand,” he continued, “The robots might start fighting the zombies! Holy crap! They could vaporize the zombies!”

He focused suddenly. “Tiger! Who would you rather fight? Robots or zombies?”

Tiger narrowed his eyes. I winced and awaited the inevitable. 16-year-olds might be able to restrain themselves from slamming their annoying parental units, but their younger brothers—especially younger brothers with overactive imaginations—are nothing more than free game.

Tiger stared coolly at his brother. Then he spoke.

“Zombies. Less organized. Easier to defeat.”