Moore On Life
Bugged out SPRING IS IN THE AIR.
Finally we can escape our winter bunker! But just when we get a chance to wander outdoors the bugs come out. No, not the flies, wasps and spiders; those can be easily eliminated. I’m talking about the super bugs – viruses, germs, bacteria and all manner of ick. “Wash your hands,” the experts tell us. “Use hand sanitizer. Use bleach.” Yikes. I don’t have enough layers of skin left on my hands after scrubbing and disinfecting so often. It’s looking bleak. What’s a person to do? I’m in a panic. I venture out onto the porch with my cats to welcome the coming season. Then I remember, I can’t stay outside. There are deadly droplets in the air from the Coronavirus or SARS or MERS. If they don’t get me, there
are infected mosquitoes carrying West Nile virus or Zika. I can’t breathe just thinking about it. It hits me suddenly. Shortness of breath…everything’s gone blurry. Wheezing…feel faint. This might be it. Oopsie, just forgot to unhitch the top button on my Levis. I’m good now. That reminds me; it’s lunchtime. I know, I’ll fix a nice BLT. Bacon always makes things better. Forget it – swine flu. How about some finger-lickin’ chicken? Nope. Don’t lick those fingers unless they’ve been washed. But my skin is too raw to sanitize. I’ve got it covered; I’ll pour some Purell on my drumstick first. Never mind – bird flu. Maybe a nice juicy burger? Cancel that order – mad cow disease. Well then, a nice healthy salad seems safe. Negative – E.coli, salmo-
nella, listeria, botulism, norovirus, hepatitis A… Arrgh! I tell myself to get inside where it’s safe. I reach down to grab my fur babies and head inside. Gag! One of them has something dangling from its mouth. I yell, “Put that mouse down it’s covered in hantavirus.” I rescue them from the outside just in time then reconsider and shove them back out, because – cat scratch fever! Guess I’ll have to stay inside eating chocolate bars – they never get recalled. I’ll just watch TV. Boo! There’s nothing on but election news for the next seven months. I don’t know what’s going to kill me first, the election coverage or cabin fever. We’re all doomed! APRIL 2020 | CROSSROADS | 13
