I didn’t hoard. “The shelves will get restocked before we finish our twelve rolls,” I told myself.
Eight rolls later, I started getting a little nervous, so this morning I got up after three hours of sleep to get to the grocery store at opening. Well, not opening, but opening for non seniors. I was the first non senior in the door.
Donning my stylish latex gloves on my hands and forest green long sleeved tee around my face, I pushed my cart directly to the paper aisles.
No, don’t shit! Don’t have your period! One square for pee!
Fairly sure my “mask” wasn’t doing anything other than threatening to slip and rub against my eyeball, I headed for the bakery and scored the dessert my daughter wanted.
Next on my list was soup. Technically they did have some cans, but nothing anyone in my family would eat if they weren’t starving. I skipped the soup.
“I’m definitely going to need my tai chi today,” I thought.
You see, I have gone from tai chi once or twice a week to every day without fail. I might not be able to control the virus or the government or the idiots still going to church, but I can fucking caress the moon. I can snake creeps down, and I can hug the fucking imaginary tree.
They didn’t have fake butter for my lactose sensitive husband or pedialyte pops for my daughter. Real butter and pedialyte juice it is. A different brand of peas. A lesser flavor of ice cream.
As I was walking out the door, a man yelled “Ma’am?” He was trying to tell an older woman that she had forgotten her groceries. She looked embarrassed and said “I was trying to get out so fast.” I think she called herself an idiot. I should have told her that I’ve done that even in normal times. Because I totally have.
At home, I washed my hands, threw my jacket, sweatshirt, jeans, and “mask” directly into the washer, and put away the groceries in my tee shirt and underwear.
And that’s when I noticed. My legs look fucking amazing from all the stress tai chi. And isn’t that what life is all about?