I remember reading a year ago how adults were telling their senior parents to stay home, to stop getting together with other people, to be safe. But, no. They wanted to party.
Not me. I stayed home. I neither warned my parents to put away their party shoes, nor was I warned by my own kids. It seemed simple enough at the time. Stay home.
And, so I did.
Then it was masks and social distancing for so long it verged on what I began to think of as normal. No big deal, right?
And then the masks came off which made me nervous. Can we hug people now? Do we shake hands or are we still twisting our arms around to bump elbows? It still felt natural to keep six feet of distance from the next guy in line for coffee or a register but I felt a little naked, at first, without the mask. The instinct to double check that I had one in my purse was real.
And, then, my first party in over a year. I am not talking about a genteel gathering. This was a full-blown party with a live band. People crowded together, leaning in with their drinks, faces mere inches apart so we could hear each other. We breathed the same air, each other's breaths. It was bizarre after so many months of near isolation.
That was a week of starved zombies coming out to feed: pool party, live-band party, karaoke party. We couldn't get enough.
Yes, karaoke. Yes, I sang.
And, yes, we all shared the same microphone without wiping it off in between.
Have we all lost our minds or have we forgotten what normal looks like? Just yesterday, I sat at a bar and sat next to a dude. Did I mention:
A) at a bar?
B) next to some dude? Next. to. some. dude!
Maybe I'm not ready for all this.
Maybe it was all a bad dream.
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