Here’s how my haircuts usually go. Things look spiffy when I leave the barber shop (“Seniors $15”). After that I look spiffy if I take the time to blow-dry my hair before I go to bed and use Product, which I might do for a day or two. By Day 3 I am washing my hair before I go to bed and permitting my pillow to do all the styling, and any Product used came out of my face. Results are random and sometimes startling to others, but not me because the last thing I do in the morning is put on my glasses and then I don’t look in the mirror, for the same reason I don’t check the rear-view if I thump over something in my car.

Then there is one day, one glorious day, when my hair is exactly the right length. And the very next day it’s gone over the edge and I need a haircut, bad. That day was a month ago. My barber shop is closed. Fortunately, like everyone else, I can now shrug helplessly and say “COVID-19” and point to my head and everyone understands. No one ever mentions my hair always looks this weird because–deep down–nobody cares. That’s just something girls worry about for no reason.

This would be one of your lesser impacts of a world-wide plague.

Also too, the Easter Bunny didn’t come to our house this year for the first time in over forty years. The governor put the kibosh on it and besides there was a problem in the supply chain. The Easter Bunny and I go way back. At first He brought enormous quantities of chocolate and hid it around the house. There’d be a chocolate bunny and a few good truffles and then mounds and mounds of M&Ms like rainbow rodent poop everywhere. In the middle years the Buns stepped up the quality and lowered the quantity, upping the truffle-to-crap ratio. And then, after consulting his investments and noting the earnest and hopeful gleam in Pootie’s eye-buttons, he just started hauling in the good chocolate by the buttload. This year, nothing.

So that’s more concerning. Impact-wise.

Others face more pressing obstacles. To get a flavor of this, it’s always good to take a cruise on the NextDoor site. This is an online community of your immediate neighbors, through which you can take heart in the goodness of others, and also you can find out exactly who is leaving rhetorical bags of flaming poop on your porch, because they up and tell you.

Last night’s thread began with one woman’s measured request we observe physical distancing whilst walking by neighbors who might be gardening near the sidewalk–to pay attention and veer away to the degree possible. And it ended up with two or three missives from the Division of the Grammatically Impaired to stay the fuck in your basement if you’re so fucking scared and people have the right to walk wherever they want. Followed by a suggestion to just fucking die already.

Which is a timely reminder that yes, we old people should be prepared to check out at any time, in general, and allow young people to eventually grow into mature and considerate adults with broader perspectives. It’s only fair.

And the most helpful advice of all came from a Dear Abby column I shall reproduce in bullet points:

  • Love conquers all
  • Every day may not be good, but there is good in every day
  • Don’t count the  days–make the days count
  • When life gives you lemons, make lemonade, and:
  • Laughter is the best medicine!

All righty then! I can only add: 

  • It takes more muscles to frown than to smile, so bulk up. 
  • Think of your NextDoor neighbor as an ass that is both half empty and half-cocked.
  • Dance like nobody’s watching because they’re inside drinking heavily and binge-watching Night Court. And:
  • When life gives you weird hair, make excuses.