On behalf of every child whose parents grew up in the Depression: Now we get it.
I’m so sorry I rolled my eyes when you saved everything and seemed to feel physical pain when I threw away something valuable, like a paper clip or rubber band.
“Why is this in the trash?”
“It’s a rubber band. It’s broken. What do you want me to do, tape it back together?”
“Tape is for Rockefellers. Here, give it to me, I’ll sew it.”
I scoffed then, but now I’m thinking I should have a clothes line and some pins, so I could rinse out the coffee filters, hang them out to dry and use them again. Yes, I have reusable mesh filters, but something in my brain, planted by my mother, says those are the nice filters for when company comes over.
Except company isn’t coming over.
Too bad. I have bread for an army. Specifically, Napoleon’s army deep into the Russian invasion, because it’s all frozen. I have six loaves, picked up over the past month, jammed in with extra ice cream, which means this will be the supper meal in mid-April:
Appetizer: Gazpacho (melted vanilla ice cream). Salad: six croutons. OK, stale crusts. Main course: Sandwiches (technically, ice cream sandwiches). Dessert: Bread pudding (slightly melted ice cream with bread).
I’m not worried about having a Coronabod at the end of this. If I have a bod, that’s enough. The prospect of going to the mall to buy new pants is not exactly a wearisome thought: It’s like being vouchsafed a vision of paradise.
Is anyone going to fat-shame anyone afterward?
“Put on a few pounds there, pal? What’d you do, treat yourself with simple human pleasures while sitting on the couch watching TV to drown out the chorus of pessimism singing in your head like the Mormon Frickin’ Tabernacle Choir? You want to talk about having to flatten the curve, start with that gut!”
Anyway, this is not an endorsement of giving up and eating junk. It is important to maintain some semblance of normalcy to give structure for the day, so you feel a sense of continuity with life in the Before Times, when people thought nothing of walking into malls and putting their naked hands on stacks of pants.
It’s a sign you’re giving up if you have cookies for breakfast or like to pour maple-flavored bourbon over the pancakes.
Do what I do. Shave, then put on a clean shirt and a tie and a pair of nicely shined shoes, to start the day with a fresh, civilized sheen.
Then have a bowl of cookies.