Brian’s cellar was stacked with cans. Some were very new, stacked closer to the door. Near the back the cans were old, some having lost their labels, some rusting.
But Brian was ready. The apocalypse was coming, or so he had been told. He was ready for the end.
Sheila was less convinced.
Once a month, Brian shopped for more cans. Four months after moving in with him, Sheila decided she would curb this behaviour.
“Brian, even if the apocalypse comes,” Sheila said, “and I’m not saying it will, but if it does, most of your cans are inedible now. They rust out, or they get so old the food in them isn’t edible any more. Long past the best before date, which even cans have.”
“When the apocalypse comes, best before dates won’t matter. We’ll still need food.” Brian said, opening the third grocery bag and continuing to stack. “It’s not like this hurts anyone now, either. And you’ll be happy for my forethought.”
“But what if one of these bursts? Or several do? And they attract rats or something?”
“Well, even better. Another supply of food.”
“Hey, can you look up how to bottle rat meat on the internet?”
Sheila stared at him, jaw slack, eyes wide. A moment later she walked up the stairs. Brian heard her suitcase wheeling toward the bedroom and shrugged. “All the more rat meat for me,” he muttered, continuing to stack.