Hunkered down in my chair and pondering the corona virus a few thoughts came home to me. Old sayings roll through my memory and sometimes I find myself humming and body rocking to the first song I ever remember learning, "Jesus loves me, this I know."
Right now as a country, and as the world, we are caught in a different way of life. Covid -19 has thrown a whole bevy of unexpected situations at us and with a lot of them I can't make up my mind whether to laugh, cry, pout, or throw a little temper tantrum.
We're grappling with an invisible, deadly enemy that's changed how we live our lives in many ways and some new rules apply. Or they should.
All of the offices, shopping places, and grocery stores have a stern notification on their front door, "Mask in place or you cannot enter."
Yes! Well, and good. As do most of us in this age and time, I agree to that. And if you look for them, there are a few good things that hit home with the commandment to cover up. For me---I don't have to wear makeup. I can burp and nobody knows it. If somebody makes me angry, I can mouth a few words, and nobody has an idea that I'm talking, let alone what I'm saying.
Not all of this is sunlight and roses though. I read somewhere that a person who pulls their mask down during this pandemic is a walking septic tank and yours truly has a bit of a problem when she goes into a store and sees about half the folks have slid their mask down.
I try to behave myself, but must say, I don't always act in a ladylike manner nowadays when I heft me to the grocery store or do other kinds of shopping.
I have to fess up. Sometimes when I'm picking up a handful of Irish potatoes, and someone next to me is also reaching out, and if he or she doesn't have their nostrils covered I kinda think that what they're doing is on the Big I, little you side. So, I do what I wouldn't if my face could be seen, I stick my tongue out.
It's an imperfect world in other ways too; it's not just the customers who aren't following the rules. I'm also here to say, some of the folks working in the stores and restaurants who should be covering their nose and mouth, their cloth piece is pulled down past the chin.
Oftentimes they get a hidden tongue roll from yours truly.
In so many ways, everything seems more complicated.
I don't know about y'all, but oftentimes my glasses fog over. When that happens, so that I won't fall, I find myself walking spraddle-legged like Mother Goose, careful not to step on her eggs.
Going through the grocery line the other day, the cashier's mask embraced her chin. She got a tongue roll.
My glasses steamed up, I reached into my billfold for the store ID which gives a discount, then handed it to the check-out lady.
"Ma'am." She tilted her head back. "I don't think this works in our machine. This card gives directions for flea and heart worm medication for Petey Poo and Roo Roo," she read.
"I'm sorry." I stepped back, turned my head and curved my tongue. I then held my breath, slid my mask down a little, dug through the billfold and found the store ID. For some reason, as it had done several times lately, my nose itched and burned.
The lady clicked the store identification. "Now, your credit card, please."
"Sure." Mask back in place, eyes running, my nose stung a little bit as I searched, then pulled a card from my billfold.
A bleep rang out. The lady cleared her throat. "You may be an Executive Member of Costco, but that won't pay for your Kroger groceries."
I wiped the runny from my eyes, did a little more scratch digging, found the right card and inserted it into the scanner.
Done, groceries sacked and in the buggy, nobody could see the red blush covering my cheeks as I hurried to the car, singing to myself, "Jesus loves me this I know."
Once in the car, my mask wasn't exactly dripping wet, but kind of moist and cold. My nose stung.
Back home, I unloaded the groceries, let Petey Poo and Roo Roo outside to run, play and do their business. It was garbage day, so I wadded up some moldy masks, then threw them and the wet, blue-sequined face cover I'd just worn into the trash. Quit sticking your tongue out, I told myself. You're almost out of masks.
A short while later, brushing my teeth, I noticed a red mark on the end of my nose. You're allergic to mold, I remembered. And then another refrain drummed into my ears, one I learned when I got older. "God don't love ugly."
Maybe you’d better quit sticking your tongue out, you'd better behave.
But a short while later, hunkered down in my chair, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and thinking things over, I may have come up with a solution.
I just wonder. How many disposable liners can I cram into a face mask?
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