Friday March 20, 2020
I’m tired of spending hours foraging for toilet
paper. I’ve decided to grow my own. (A shout out to John Oliver who passed this idea on
to me).
Most of today was worrying about my son and his
family. They had gone to Australia three
weeks ago for spring break and to begin to look for housing (My son commutes
for work, but the commute from Vancouver is getting wearing). When things exploded with the virus a weeks ago they decided to come home. They’ve
been trying to come home since. They
finally got a Qantus flight to Los Angeles that leaves at midnight. My son says things are getting crazy in
Australia and they’re seeing the same sort of panic we’re seeing here.
“People’s nerves are totally shot,” he
texted. “First the fires, then floods,
now the virus.”
“Well the good news is there’s only seven more
plagues before it’s over,” I texted back.
I went for a walk this morning. I found the best way to make other walkers,
joggers, runners, dog walkers and bikers
away. I find by talking loudly to myself and growling when people get too close
generally works. Not so much with the
dog walkers.
One lady was not deterred. She blocked my path
“You’re acting very strangely. Do you have the virus?”
“No,” I replied. “Rabies.”
“Oh, thank God, I was worried it was something
serious.”
I got a call from my doctor in the
afternoon. I had an appointment
scheduled for next Thursday.
The receptionist informed me the doctor would
be doing the appointment over the phone.
I don’t have a problem with that – except it’s my urologist. I’m not big into self-examinations.
“Okay, Jeff, this won’t take too long. Do you happen to have a rubber glove and a
jar of Vaseline handy?
I’m not looking forward to that call. This is
the same doctor who once described my prostate as “the Mount Baker of
Prostates.” Based on my personal
experience you don’t want a urologist who likes to act as a tour guide when
he’s navigating your interior plumbing.
At least I didn’t have to leave him a tip.
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