Boomers Zoomin' Boomers

Some nice people I love to Zoom with. 

On a Monday mourn, I have a question: Who Isn't Zoomin' Who? Or if you're an aging English major, whom? The Zoom thing is trending, but then you already know that. You're Zoomin' too, assuming you know someone techno savvy. It's the only way to spend quality time with friends and family without catching something deadly. So hubby and I Zoomed it up the other night and toasted our wonderful friends with Tequila. Personally, I got tipsy as kaka, my preferred state at the moment. All before 7 p.m. Between the Tequila and the hourly consumption of the mini-chocolate "It's A Girl!" candies meant for the baby shower I had to cancel, I've hit a new low. I may never wear pants that zip again. I don't care.


And speaking of new lows, on Saturday I got a very upsetting call that went something like this: "Hi, Carol, it's Renée." "Oh, no, don't say it." "I have to say it." "Once you say it, it's real." "The salon is closed. I'm so sorry." "Not as sorry as I am." "Think about how I feel." "I feel just as bad as you do." "I feel worse than you." "Why do you get to feel worse?" "Because this is what I do for a living." "Oh. I see your point." "No matter what happens, no matter how long this hell drags on, I want you to make me a promise." "Depends on the terms." "I can't put this any clearer. Do not, under any circumstances, cut your own bangs." "But Renée -- " "Promise." "You can't make me." "You ever want me to deal with that flat baby fine hair of yours, you better promise." "Fine. I won't cut my bangs, intentionally. If my scissors slip..." "Promise." "I promise!" "Good girl." "Thank you. I'm glad someone thinks so."

Given this horrifying development, is it any surprise that I lost it in CVS on Sunday? Even though my sons won't step foot in a state-approved essential business, I'm still game and so is hubby. The eldest called with a request. "Mom, I'm out of nose spray." "Oh, dear God in heaven, are you sick?" "No, just allergies." "Mine are horrible, too." "Do you have an extra Flonase?" "No. I don't use that." "How long do you think it'll take to arrive if I order it?" "Order it? Please. Don't worry, darling, Mother is here. I'll go get it for you." "Clean your hands before, during and after." "You clean your hands, buddy."

Off I went on my little and I do mean little adventure. I got in line, more than six feet from the altacocker in front of me. Then I made a big boo boo. I took my sweater off and sniffled, only because the air was dry. "She's standing too close to me," the shamer said to his wife. "And she's sick!"  he added. Maybe he thought I couldn't hear him? "Are you serious?" I said. "You took a step," he said. "I'm nowhere near you." "You're sick." "I'm not sick." "Did you hear her sniffle?" he asked his wife. "Hush," she said. My hero. But I wasn't done. Oh, far from it. The SJG Talk was just beginning. "I have every right to be here. I'm not sick. I'm more than six feet away. And it's people like you who are creating panic." "No, it's people like you." "Give me a break!" At which point, he stepped out of line and went to hide in the corner. Not my best Zen moment. But it felt so good. Right now, it's every bitch for herself. But next time I need something from CVS, I'm having it delivered.