Do you forget your mask too?

September 27, 2020

You’d think by now, my husband and I would be prepared with masks in our possession at all times. That only works if you remember where you left your mask or even remember to put it on.

When I first dined out at a local restaurant, I wore my mask to my table. Then I got up and went to use the restroom, and when I saw my naked face in the mirror, I panicked. What now? I grabbed a paper towel, held it over my face with both hands and returned nonchalantly to the table. A waitress eyed me and began to laugh.

Every time we leave the house, I say to my husband, “Don’t forget your mask!” When we arrive at our destination, he opens the console and says, “I know I put it in here last time.”

It’s not in the console. It’s on the floor in the backseat. His black mask is camouflaged on the floor mat. So I hand him one of the three from my purse, a pink flowered one. “Don’t you have a plain blue?” he asks.


Speaking of blue ones, have you noticed that some people wear the paper ones with the dark side facing out while others wear them with the light-blue side facing out? And how many times should you wear a disposable mask?

Some masks are shaped to allow space for your nose, but I wear them upside down because that hides unwanted facial hair on my chin.

Right now, both of our cars have extra masks in the console. Mine are kept in a plastic baggie. So every so often, I gather them up and give them a bath.

We were out to dinner the other night with friends Bill and Mary. Bill removes his mask and lays it on the table. Mary shrieks, “Don’t lay that on the table! It’s unsanitary.”

My husband boasts, “I keep mine in my pocket.” I roll my eyes.

Last Saturday, I was on my way to the farmers market when I panicked. I had changed purses to one with a strap across my body so I could shop easily. No mask in my purse. The console was empty. Maybe one was lying on the floor in the backseat?

No luck. I looked in the trunk and spied my husband’s old blue cloth one circa March 15. But it had ties, not elastic. Four of them with knots tighter than I could master in less than four hours. I couldn’t enter the market without one.

I rigged that sucker. Somehow fastened it over my head and neck. I could barely breathe, and it smelled god-awful. I pointed my purse at the young girl at Fifer Orchards. Give me six apple cider doughnuts and nobody gets hurt.

Our household is stimulating the economy by purchasing new masks every week. Our goal is to respect the well-being of our fellowman. I feel like the Lone Ranger, but I’m honestly trying.

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