So, I just gave away a Poland Spring 5-gallon jug of water. I don’t feel heroic, I don’t feel charitable, and I don’t feel awesome. You know how I feel? Fucking stingy!! I should have given two. I offered, and they said, “No.” I should have insisted. But, this Coronavirus panic is making me like a greedy, little Scrooge. I’d rather write people checks than hand out my emergency supplies of food, water and toilet paper. I went to the markets no less than seven times within three days and worked my ass off to amass this handsome stash of butchered meats, pasta in all different shapes and frozen delicacies, which I will grill, bake, boil and sauté. I have more bread—rolls, sliced, buns, even in the tube—than I’d use in a full year. I waited on lines that snaked their way through the store, beginning in the refrigerator aisle at the very end of my Shop Rite. We actually had a cop directing traffic, pointing shopping carts in the direction of different checkout lanes. I met some nice folks on those lines. I’m hoping to bump into them in the produce section in healthier times.

If I felt like a low-ranking soldier at Shop Rite, then I was a fucking Green Beret at Costco. Finding parking was like basic training, and it progressed from there. Costco has those mega shopping carts, so immediately the tone is set for you to fill that cart to maximum capacity. You know exactly what I’m talking about—you’re ‘gonna have to move your head to the sides of the cart just to see around the stacks of paper towels and laundry detergent piled high. It’s as if you need a special license just to steer it, especially when it gets weighted down and you have to maneuver around people dilly-dallying and stopping for the free nacho samples. Do these people not know that this is time to buckle-the-fuck down? This place is a nightmare on a normal day, so hurry up and grab your 4-pound-Fred-Flintstone block of cheddar and move it! The line to check out there also started at the back near the refrigerated foods, but this is no Shop Rite—Costcos are like aircraft hangars. I think I was in gridlock for about 30 minutes. (In the scheme of things, that doesn’t sound so bad.)

My kids are on strict instruction to not touch our supplies until we are truly locked down and can’t run out for or bring in food. If they ask if a friend can stop by, I secretly assess the eating habits of that kid. I think, “Does he eat a lot? Will he go for the Pop Tarts or the food housed in the fridge? Is he one of those kids from a healthy house, where his mom keeps the family away from chips and cookies, because it’s those kids who then annihilate my pantry?” Then, I move on to, “Well, he’s a male, so he will use less toilet paper.” Nowadays, when I pull off the last square of the toilet paper roll, I’m a mess, and I have 100 rolls in my garage. My friend told me she has 36 rolls of toilet paper, but she has four females in her house. That’s a lot of wiping per day. I feel worried for her but pretended she was well-stocked when she asked if I thought that was enough. I do realize how this sounds. I’m embarrassed and mortified that this whole pandemic has made me psycho, cheap and paranoid. I’m normally not anything like this Mommie Dearest skinflint I’ve become. “No. More. Frozen. Waffles!” ( I swear I entertain a ton and offer everything I have from top-shelf liquor to shrimp and good cuts of meat. )

I’ve been drinking every night and have been letting my underage daughter have a glass right along with me. She’s unusually nervous about this whole nightmare, so now’s as good a time as any to break the law in the privacy of our own home. These teens read all of this false information on social media and really believe it. Oh, how I miss the days of my youth, where if we were home, we were just home. If channels 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 11 or 13 didn’t tell us, then we were happily oblivious and went back to writing in our Partridge Family diaries or calling our BFFs on our teenage landlines. Anyway, I’ve just learned that these kids believe a scenario just like in the movie The Purge is going to happen. “What the hell is that?” I thought. Here, I just ripped this synopsis off from the internet: In an America ravaged by crime and overcrowded prisons, the government sanctions an annual 12-hour period during which all criminal activity — including murder — is legal. So, these kids think during these days of quarantine, this will happen. I told my daughter that no way will that happen. We have an alarm, and we will lock our doors. And, all 5’2” of me will protect her. Somehow, I didn’t ease her fears. And, thank you very much, daughter, for scaring the living shit out of me now also. 

Well, I must now drive to the Jersey Shore to meet with the men who are repairing my water main line. Presently I have no water in the house. Why worry about this now? Because, when the murderers and robbers come get me during the imminent “purge,” I’ll need a place with running water to escape to very soon. I had to let the men in this morning without me being there to get the job started. They needed access to my basement. Wait!! That is where I store my extra toilet paper and Clorox wipes. What if they’ve taken it??!! See, I’m certifiable. Maybe I’ll try out for Fatal Attraction, the Sequel. 

I dedicate this blog to all of us, but especially to the people who are sick and to the people who are going to have trouble paying their bills. And, I hope with all of my hope strength that we get this orange fucker out of office, so we can get our country back on its feet. Still think COVID-19 is a hoax, asshole?

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