‘There is no Danger Man sign for this. Yet.’
I had a fun phone chat with Contractor Man yesterday. (That’s all he and I can do these days, work having screeched to a halt on the Ken and Barbie House weeks ago; bathrooms half-tiled, kitchen cabinets all made up with no place to go, etc., etc., etc., whine whine whine. I know; one-percent problems at their very worst. I’m done now.)
Anyway. It felt really good to at least talk to Contractor Man. And I think I got him to laugh when I asked him, “Remember when deciding whether to go with charcoal or black grout was keeping me up at night?” Ah, grout nightmares. Those were Innocent Times indeed.
Today, instead of choosing grout, I’m rifling through my dresser drawers for suitable social-distancing mask materials. (That’s The Child, sporting her safety solution at the top of this post.)
Not that I need a mask all that much. I was telling someone just the other day that even before the Time of Corona I hardly ever went out. At least not here in Amagansett. Even in normal times I’d pretty much stick to The Compound. I’d glom all my errands together and do them once a week in what I call my “Vector” — I’d load up the Honda and drive to the dump. Then I’d drive to the post office/IGA/liquor store where I’d load up and drive home.
But I acted like that then because I’m basically a socially-averse curmudgeon. Now it’s because it’s not safe out there. As Andrew Cuomo, our governor and my New God, said just yesterday while warning New Yorkers to keep on social-distancing, “This virus doesn’t spread itself.” So, sure, I still do my Vector, but now the post-office ladies work behind sheets of plastic and I have to stand in a socially-distanced line to get into the IGA, where they limit customers to 30 at a time. Oh, and Maureen, the only clerk at the liquor store, is out sick with, yup, it.
So, yes. I’ve been trying not to go out. Instead I stay in and read (Hilary Mantel; all the Wolf Hall books), cook (my freezer is full of soups and stews), knit (two sweaters so far, and counting). And of course I’ve been consuming many soothing beverages.
Streaming? Sort of. If what I’m watching doesn’t mess up my knitting. (Yes, I started on Tiger King. But I confess that I find Friends more addictive.) Oh! Have you seen John Krasinski’s SGN? The one with the original cast of Hamilton is wonderful. In my opinion. The Child hated it. I asked her, “You hate John Krasinski?” “No, I hate Hamilton.” “You hate Hamilton??? Now you’re going to tell me you hate kitties.”
Oh. Now might be a good time to ‘splain about Danger Man. Those of you who have been reading my stuff for a while (bless your faithful hearts) may recall a story about this.
“Danger Man” is that little stick figure who is always getting swept away by tornadoes or tsunamis or crushed by falling rocks or falling fridges or getting his butt licked by flames in airports. You see him on signs just about everywhere, warning you from all kinds of danger.
Well, I haven’t seen a Danger Man sign for coronavirus. Would it be Danger Man coughing superimposed with a big circle with a line through it?
Got any good Danger Man ideas? Your suggestions are most welcome. Now, mind Danger Man; grab that bandanna and those gloves and stay six feet away from each other. Better yet, stay home. If you get bored, I’ve got an archive chock-full of amusing blog posts you can explore.
Amagansett, New York. April 2020