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C'mon down in the dumps with me

     It's been so-o-o-o long. It can't help getting to you, with no end in sight. Even a brightly colored mask won't pick you up. Cruising around in the car would help if I could stop for a snack or a drink somewhere. Somewhere other than a drive-through—although Paul doesn't complain as we pull up our masks approaching the friendly Starbucks fellow in the window to get Paul his iced decaf mocha latte.

     I thought this wouldn't be that much different for me, the Covid staying at home thing, since I've been pretty much relegated to the house since Paul's neck surgery, to cater to his needs "on call," with exceptions for weekly visits from Lupe to stay with him while I roam free about town for a few hours—or to lunch with my book club friends, or for coffee with my widow's group friends, and on Wednesday evenings I went to Bible Study with a bunch of really good friends, except for a few times when I played hooky, while Christy stayed home with Paul.

     But still, I was pretty used to sitting around doing nothing—reading, tending the potted plants, watching less and less TV. . . You know the drill. So I thought this wouldn't be that much different.

     It is. It's not fun. So I thought I'd share my misery with you and maybe we can get a few laughs out of it. Maybe. . .  You're probably having a much tougher time of it than I am, since you're used to coming and going at will pretty much. Shall we have a drive-by pity party? We can boo-hoo together, out of our car windows. With our beautiful (?) masks covering our pert little noses and un-lipsticked—why bother?—lips. Maybe we could toss each other bottles of wine and holler, "Cheers!" or more appropriately, holler, "Bummer!"

     I miss you guys, all of you. Texting doesn't quite do it, although it helps—especially those cute emojis. Phone calls help, but not being a natural phone chatter, it's hard to sit and chat for hours while life goes on around me—or not. Nothing happening here.

     I've become a hermit. I'm so intent on not letting Paul get the virus. I'm sure everyone thinks I'm overdoing it, but underdoing it isn't an option for me. So I'm living the hermit life with daily cruises to nowhere to get out of the house. If you see me, honk and holler—‘til we meet again, under a sunny—but not too sunny—sky.

     Oh! We had an exciting adventure last weekend! Wow! You should try it! Paul and I, under advisement from my ever-so-smart niece Kathy, drove straight to the library parking lot, pulled in and quick! put our masks on! and rolled down our windows. A beautiful lady, masked and gloved to perfection, glided over to my window with her clipboard to interrogate me regarding my birthdate, name, address. . .  Satisfied with my correct answers, she returned to her perch to retrieve a bag of swabs.

     Up one nostril; up the other and done! Results to follow in five days or sooner. Yay! Meanwhile, a handsome fellow in scrubs appeared at Paul's window. Paul got all his answers correct, too, so the fellow took off for the swab supply bin. He really stuck it to Paul. Stuffed that swab wa-a-a-y up each nostril. Glad he didn't do mine!

     And then we were done. Out of the parking lot and off to Starbucks before heading home from our fantastic trip to swab heaven. You should try it! Actually, heaven was two days later when we got our results—negative for both of us. Seems our hermetic life has paid off.

     So far anyway.

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