The annual September event which coincides with my wedding anniversary has begun.
As in previous events, it’s begun on a Saturday morning with me at the keyboard excising innocuous nuggets of truth, justice, and snarkitude from the observations I made this last week.
Before I commit this week’s crowning event to the digital annuls of the history list in your browser, I would be remiss if I didn’t provide an update on the key indicators I’ve identified as harbingers that all of this nonsense of a quarantine is nearing an end.
Six months ago when the reality of a pandemic became more prominent in my life and not just a talking point in the news, things started to disappear from the grocery shelves.
Back then I made some off-hand remark about the coming riots.
Granted at the time, I thought they would have been spawned by the toilet paper shortages. I honestly didn’t see Marxist revolutionaries in play.
I gotta give it to those behind the production of this panty-raid of a year for the variety alone.
I haven’t been able to find the following items in the grocery store since March:
- Disinfectant wipes – I guess this is understandable, given the nature of the spontaneous case of germaphobia society has created for itself.
- The store brand version of my eye drops – They’re a little cheaper than the name brand that four out of five ophthalmologists recommend for their patients who experience dry eyes when chewing gum.
- Diet Barq’s Root Beer (12 pack cans preferred) – This one baffles me. I’m guessing the nation’s strategic reserve has been depleted, the supply chain has been cut off, and the factory has been shut down.
Lemon poppy seed muffins had pretty much exited the picture a few years ago. The only place I could get them was in the cafeteria at the office. Since I haven’t been in the office since early March, and won’t be asked to go back until 2021, my false positive generating delectable has been painfully absent and replaced with Everything bagels lovingly slathered with cream cheese.
Yes.
Again with the muffins and the bagels.
You came here on your own and haven’t abandoned the post yet. Hang in there, I’m going to transition to another subject matter very soon. Even then you’ll regret it and lament the absence of muffin and bagel talk.
That’s a promise.
Anyway, I’ve had it mind that once these items returned to the store shelves, things would begin returning to normal.
A few weeks ago, the eye drops returned. I’m still holding out hope for a product I can use to wipe down my desktop that doesn’t taste like A&W.
Strangely enough, I happened upon a package of the muffins last night, and skipped the cream cheese slathery this morning.
I can feel those poppy seeds surging through my system now and I feel so alive!
There’s even one hovering around my temporary crown which will keep me busy for the next hour or so.
Enough of that. Let’s talk about my dog.
Have I mentioned that I walk her on a regular basis?
That dog is going to be so pissed whenever I go back to the office, because she’s not going to get 2-3 walks a day like she does now.
The normal schedule is that we take our first walk around 8:30 am on weekdays. The route we take is locked in because I know how long it will take since it’s technically my morning break time. It should go without saying that Faith usually takes the opportunity on this walk to leave a little somethin’ somethin’ on the street for me to pick up.
It’s poop for the course, I guess.
This last week, we noticed a few more houses sporting campaign signs. Upon passing the third house with a Trump/Pence sign, I marveled at the bravery the homeowners had exhibited by displaying such signs. Trump supporters have literally (and I mean literally) been attacked, assaulted, and hunted down in recent years. Wearing a MAGA hat or showing such support is usually an invitation for a little trouble.
As the walk continued, I came upon something I hadn’t seen yet this season. Right smack-dab in the middle of the front yard of a house down the street from the Trump/Pence signs, was one for Biden/Harris. I immediately surveyed the exterior of the house for window wells, which are indicators that a basement is present. Basements aren’t very common here in Texas.
My dog Faith didn’t really join me in the search for a basement. Instead, she conducted her own version of a push poll on the street in front of the house with the Biden/Harris sign and then waited impatiently for me to pick it up.
Just to recap, we passed four houses that morning with campaign signs. The first three were Trump/Pence signs and the last one where Faith pooped had the Biden/Harris sign.
Read into that what you will.
