My
blog posts may get shorter and less frequent. Hard to find things to write
about when the days blend one into another. Today I was looking for laughs and
found two on Facebook.
The
first was a post about the folly of putting Mike Pence in charge of a fight
against a communicable disease, since he’s a man, the writer said, who won’t
have dinner alone with a woman not his wife because “he’s afraid of catching
lust.” Made me laugh out loud, which I figured was good. We all need a laugh
these days.
The
other was a post I shared—Morning Joe in a rant about the foolishness of some
government leaders who are still unrealistic about the nature of the beast we
are all fighting—Devin Nunes who is advising people to go to pubs, for
instance, and a southern governor who has refused to take precautionary steps
for his state. I shared it because I thought it made an impact.
A man,
who shall remain anonymous, responded that he was so struck by my beautiful
profile that he wanted us to be friends, but he didn’t want to intrude. Would I
just click on his profile and friend him and then we could get to know each
other better? Well, that ain’t happening, my non-friend. No one has ever been “struck
dumb” by my profile, even in my younger, better days. I resisted the urge to
look at his profile.
Not so
funny: trying to explain to a thirteen-year-old why he can’t hang out with his
friends and go anywhere he wants. He sort of understands the danger but finds
it annoying. We explained he has three grandparents, a father, and an uncle in
the high-risk category, and it’s not that we’re afraid he’ll get sick—we don’t
want him to bring it home to us. He, who generally does not like school, has
decided school wouldn’t be cancelled if the teachers weren’t all so old. How to
make him get the concept that all those children coming together and sharing
germs is the problem, not the age of his teachers. And, honest, Jacob, most of
them are not old enough to be in the high-risk category.
Also
not funny: trying to give Sophie her antibiotic pill. When my family was out of
town and had a pet-sitter for their dog, she did the pill chore for me. Jessica
had a smooth talent for getting it into Sophie—something that involved a bit of
wet dog food and a spoon. She tipped a couple of spoons into Sophie’s mouth and
then hid the pill, tipped it in, and voila—success! Tonight, everyone left me
without wet dog food or chicken lunch meat which had once worked for Christian,
so I tried Velveeta and the old-fashioned, hard-line way I learned as a kid—forced
it into her mouth and held her muzzle shut forever, while she stared at me with
accusing eyes. She seemed to swallow several times, so after an eternity I let
go—and out came the pill onto the floor. I am bummed and disgusted with me,
with my kids who didn’t do it before they left, with Sophie who thinks I am
trying to kill her. I have lost all credibility with my dog.
As I
see it, one of the dangers of this crisis is losing your good disposition, let
alone your sense of humor.
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