Here we are, in the middle of government induced paranoia...is there any other kind?
It's bad enough that it's 90 plus outside, has been since the weekend, and promises to be as hot as hell for the next week. I know: it's summer! But it's only good for people who like being deep fried, and who just can't wait to develop melanoma. For those of us who have skin the color of milk bottles, it's torture. I spend ten minutes in bright sunlight, turn the color of beetroot, suffer acute pain, and then peel-so it's all been for nothing. I look like I should be ready for embalming-only white, not pasty gray or the color of walkers out of The Walking Dead. If I could find an island, with temperatures around 68F (20C), I would move tomorrow. Maybe today...
You undoubtedly know that Monday was the day when all restrictions were lifted. From midnight on, it was pandemonium. Strange, because a lot of these people have ignored the restrictions for months. But now-every day is like a stampede of angry cattle. No masks, no social distancing, the appalling behavior that has always been part of being British has now returned in force. Will people have the courtesy to step aside when they see a disabled person? Hell, no-they expect us to move, even when there's no place to go.
Now this will make you smile, in the midst of all this chaos. I braved the crowds-wearing a mask, of course, even though I was just about the only one with the sense to do so-and there, in the middle of the street, was this huge woman, a terribly painful-looking shade of red, waving her arms around everywhere. She was fighting with someone, and the more the other person backed down, the more aggressive (and loud) she became. I'm not fat shaming, I promise-but her bingo wings were flapping in the wind, and some poor person who was trying to get past her nearly got one in the face. I had to laugh. Okay, I'm cruel, but can you imagine having to call the paramedics and explain how you ended up with a fractured skull?
Oh, sorry, I got smacked in the face by someone's bingo wing that was so large, it could have been made into another whole person. And that was just the bingo wing; she wasn't wearing a bra, and her boobs swung around like a cow's udders.
I think that you get the picture: bingo wings the size of a Mini, boobs like a cow's udders, and tattoos everywhere (yes, I forgot to mention the tattoos, I was distracted by other parts of the body flapping in the wind). A voice that could shatter glass (if the bingo wings didn't do it first), and a face that wouldn't be out of place as an extra in the Walking Dead. Oh, joy. Good thing I hadn't eaten breakfast.
This has been my week: hiding out and trying to stay out of trouble. My team at the hospital has the same opinion: we are in for a huge increase in infections, and a massive increase in deaths. We're all cringing, but telling everyone to wear masks, keep away from people as much as possible, keep hand washing.
Eventually, we'll see if we're right. Eventually, we'll see if we're still alive! Whatever. I'm still planning on riding down the Pacific Coast Highway (if California hasn't dropped into the Pacific by then), celebrating my 100th birthday, on my Harley (I'll be driving, of course), with my 80 year old toyboy riding right behind me. Stop on the side of the road, have a picnic, and just keel over. I told this to my friend, who immediately rolled her eyes, said "yeah, dream on", and asked me what would my toyboy do? Well-why would he be worried? He'd get the Harley.
Some people have no sense of adventure...
No comments:
Post a Comment