I haven’t exactly been holding my breath, but I’ve been waiting to see if anything happens.
It’s been a little more than a week ago, a week from Sunday, actually, when the incident took place. I’ve got about another half week to go to find out if I’m in the clear or not.
I was in the bread aisle of our grocery store, a store who decided it would be a good idea to change up its entire lay out during the middle of a pandemic. So instead of people being able to get what they want because they know where it is and then LEAVE, everyone is searching high and low for what they need and muttering and cursing under their masks. Well, some of us were. Those of us who were wearing masks were.
The thing is, everyone was cursing. Those without masks were just cursing into the air — with passion. Yep, letting it all out into the public air during a pandemic. So not cool, people.
The bread aisle is also now the ethnic food aisle because — why the hell not?
Anyway, I was looking for black beans, so technically I was on the ethnic food aisle. Goya black beans, to go with the fajitas I was going to make later in the week, but I didn’t see Goya. I saw names on cans that I neither recognized nor knew how to pronounce, but hey, no biggie. The thing was I had choices. And because I had so many choices, I was using my powers of mental telepathy to let the cans decide which one I would pick. Because in this day and age, I’m going to pick up one can of beans and that’s it. There will be no picking up two cans of beans and comparing them. I try to touch as few things as possible.
I just want you to know that if you’re going to use mental telepathy to pick out a can of beans, for some of us who have very weak powers of telepathy, this takes time. Taking time in a busy grocery store is never the way to go. Matter of fact, if I had the ability to freeze time so I could figure out which can of beans to get, this would have been that moment. Unfortunately, if that were the case, time would probably still be as frozen as the peas I’ve had in my freezer since 1999. But so it goes.
So let me back up a minute. Okay?
I don’t want you to think that I usually go to the grocery store during the middle of the day on Sundays because I don’t. Why is that, you ask? Excellent question. The answer is that I like to go to the grocery store early in the morning, like at 6:30 AM when they first open and there’s not a bunch of people and I increase my chances of living through this pandemic. Unfortunately, my grocery run was over a week late when my husband announced early Sunday morning that he was finally ready to go.
I needed white wine and you can’t get wine at the grocery store until after 12 0’clock on Sundays. Only on Sundays. Apparently, our grocery store won’t accept the argument and FACT that it’s FIVE O’CLOCK SOMEWHERE, when it’s not five o’clock at their location; ergo, you’re not buying alcohol until after noon.
So now I’m at the grocery store after midday on a Sunday (the worst day and time to buy groceries), trying to figure out what can of freakin’ beans to get and there are people EVERYWHERE! They’re not social distancing. I’m social distancing, but they’re not. Even so, most of us are wearing masks. It’s the damned kids — you know, the millennials? They’re the ones not wearing masks. Stupid, damned healthy, young millennials! Not all of them, but the ones I’m talking about? They know who they are!
Could it be that they’re trying to kill off us older-ish people on purpose?
So I’m just about to reach for the can of beans I’d finally decided on, when this one woman, mid 20’s, tries to zoom by me. “Try” is the key word here. Because she smacked into my entire right hand side (shoulder, arm, hip — all the right hand parts) as she zipped past and SHE KEEPS GOING!
“SORRY,” this maskless wonder yells back smiling at me before disappearing into the masses.
“You bet your ass, you’re sorry,” I muttered under my mask.
Let the worry begin.
I mean I can tell she’s an extrovert, right? I have nothing against extroverts. I’ve been known to be extroverted now and again. But she’s a true extrovert. You know the kind I mean. They’re the ones who get around and socialize and laugh out loud, joyfully. All. the. time. Without masks. They can’t help themselves.
IT’S A PANDEMIC PEOPLE! USE YOUR DAMNED MASKS! And for Pete’s sake, stop laughing. There’s nothing funny going on right now!
All I can think about since is — she touched me. She touched my entire right hand side without a mask on. I’m going to get coronavirus and die because I have underlying health shit going on and I could stand to lose a few dozen pounds and let’s face it, I’m not as young as I used to be. I’m just what coronavirus is looking for.
So, we’ll see. The clock’s ticking but it moves damned slow when it wants to.
I got home and immediately spritzed myself with Lysol like a disinfectant whore readying herself for a favorite client. Then I burned my clothes and showered and showered some more. Okay, maybe I didn’t burn my clothes. But I wanted to. Damn my weak telepathic powers. This would have happened if they had been stronger.
I guess that if there’s a silver lining to any of this, my death may be ironic. Y’all know I love irony, right? I live for irony. So, perhaps, as careful as I’ve been — not going anywhere except the grocery store once in a blue moon and in the wee early morning hours at that, the fact that I social distance and wash my hands and don’t touch my face and I wear a mask out in public and I do everything in my power to keep from getting this stupid virus, I may have it yet. I may actually die from irony. If I’m gonna go, this does seem like a fitting demise.
I’ve always said that God has a helluva wicked sense of humor.
Silly me, to think it would be okay to take one little chance so I could get a bottle of wine. And it was for cooking! Okay, for drinking, too, but I don’t even drink that much!
So now I have to ask myself, was the wine worth dying for?
Let me drink on that and I’ll get back to you.