I guess 6 months is a bit of a stretch between Retorts…at least public Retorts.
As Z will tell you—and anyone else in my close limited circle
who has the misfortune on the rare occasion to “swap air” with me, which is frowned upon under the best of
circumstances, but especially now in these, the most virulent of times—I’m
prone to verbally retort to every other sentence that passes as conversation
amongst friends.
Which is why my circle is close and limited in the first
place.
Plus, the fact I usually don’t remember most people’s names,
no matter how long they’ve been ensconced in said circle, doesn’t help.
Okay, stop all the eye rolling. Don't you recognize a bit of
humorous hyperbole when you see it.
Of course, I remember
all their names.
Just not the ones that belong to them specifically.
But why nitpick.
An asymptomatic super spreader by any other name is
still a less than six-foot away social distancing threat.
Or, in my case, twenty feet—can’t be too careful—which renders most of my retorts unintelligible, anyway.
Not that distance matters when it comes to the lucidity quotient
of my spoken witticism’s. Z says, I mumble and, for the most part, give the impression
of someone choking on a peanut butter cup, which I think is so unfair.
I don’t even like peanut butter cups.
Milky Ways or Snickers, perhaps…but nothing with peanut
butter, unless jelly’s attached, preferably on some sort of bread.
So, by now, you’re wondering…has it “really” only been six
months? And wasn’t that a nice, peaceful six months…despite all the global doom
and gloom.
It did seem to go fairly quickly.
Each day blending into the next.
Mondays morph into Thursdays with weekends signifying it’s only
a couple of days until Monday…again.
And on and on it goes.
