UNCERTAIN TIMES

Grocery day is a biohazard. Armed with my list of copious amounts of pasta, and things in cans, I’m confident I’ll not only have enough to eat, but I will be able to live off my fat for years to come.

Where are my gloves? I’m forced to wear my only pair—exfoliating gloves. The peaches are nectarines by the time they hit the cart. There are advantages to wearing one floral and one standard blue beauty mitt: other shoppers stay two metres, plus an aisle away, and I don’t touch my eyes.

I rapidly circumnavigate pylons and slow only when I reach empty shelves. What did I miss? What wasn’t on my list that was on everyone else’s? Was there a news report about Madagascan vanilla?

I check out, then race to the parking lot, packing my car like I’m at an Indy pitstop. I secure myself in the driver’s seat as if returning from a spacewalk. I’m not doing that again for at least a month.

Buoyed by ample supplies of foods I don’t like, I drive, inching slowly to avoid the four trucks I spy in the distance and turn on the radio for the traffic report.

Arriving home, I burst from my vehicle to unload. A couple who I have never seen before, walk by and fling a distant “Hello” in my direction. I begin counting... A woman walks a dog on the other side of the road. Who are these people? My neighbour drives up and begins chatting with the couple. Five! We are up to five people and we don’t live together! I abandon a lone bag and long-jump through my front door. Peering through the window I notice that’s the bag with the eggs. Oh, right, that’s okay, the frozen veg are in that one, too.

Negotiating this new world can be stressful—but amusing!

By the time I’ve unpacked this month’s groceries the street will have cleared. I retrieve the soggy remnants and ruminate about food poisoning for the rest of the week. Will my car start a month from now? Will I venture out looking like a Beatle?

This afternoon I hope to wash and wax my car which will take hours, perfect, except for the counting. Perhaps I can spray the neighbours down as they pass by.

Deodorant, I forgot deodorant. Well, I’ll have to improvise. All that decluttering has come in handy. I can start rubbing an array of scented candles under my arms.

By the time I have figured all of this out, it will be over. God willing.