So…. We’re all goners. Or it’s nothing to get worked up about. Depends on who you ask.
As we are a high risk household, husband (asthma), Ralphie (generally weak and frail), and I (elderly) are sheltering in place. We will be here until the threat of infection is over or we run out of chips and dip, whichever comes first. Because if the virus takes me, my last meal will not be kale.
Sheltering in place
I did, however, make a trip to the Walmart and the liquor store before going under. There was no toilet paper, but I didn’t care. I can drop a turd in the back yard with the dog if it comes to that. But if my husband and I run out of liquor during the quarantine, one of us will end up in the boneyard, virus or no virus.
This week, I began using the Walmart pickup service. (Yes, it took a pandemic to drag me into present day.) They were out of a lot of items and there were many substitutions, but we were able to get enough supplies to last us another week without having to expose ourselves to the carriers and the doomed.
And you folks know who you are. Carriers are young and vibrant and have fully functioning immune systems and don’t care that, while you feel GREAT doing shots at the beach, you are infecting the rest of the world. So maybe consider this somewhere between shot 19 and 27: the 70-year-old man who has to clean the vomit out of your hotel room is high risk, along with many other service workers forced to remain on the job so you can get your spring break on. I know that’s not funny, but it needs to be said.
The doomed are the elderly because, for some unknown reason, it is impossible for them to stay home. My friend’s mother, who is well into her 70s and has neither an infant nor a cat, went out to buy milk on Tuesday. You know, because she needed milk. Doomed.
We are fortunate that my husband can work from home, but I would be lying if I said it wasn’t disrupting my routine slightly. Mostly by him asking me 90 times a day what I am doing. Because I’m doing nothing. I refuse to run the vacuum if I might be dead next week. I’m spending what may be my last few days/weeks/months on earth eating stockpiled chips and taking pictures of the dog. I guess some things don’t change with a pandemic.
And so here we sit, covered in Frito dust and dog hair, doing laundry and writing dumb blogs, watching The Office and the dog chasing birds, wearing our comfy clothes and trying not to choke each other, wondering if the toilet paper hoarders will let up before we actually run out, wondering if I will die if I go to the post office, wondering when vodka delivery will be available…
My beloved Aruba
Ralphie Nugget 