No-Contact Pizza

Tonight we had pizza with no touching. We phoned in our order, paid with a credit card and half an hour later the delivery person texted us as she pulled out of our driveway that she had left the pizza on the little bench outside our front door. Everything seemed pretty sterile and virus-free. Which is why when my husband started screaming, "The cardboard box is covered with coronavirus!" I was a bit baffled.

Let me amend that: what I was was sick and tired of my paranoid husband overreacting to the current pandemic.

Okay, sure -- a pandemic is not a good thing. But still, as my neighbor across the street just told me, on the phone of course, "Don't let it get you down. Do a jigsaw puzzle!" Anyway, yesterday, in search of fresh air, Mitch and I went for a walk in a lovely park alongside a river near our home. Despite all the cars in the parking lot making Mitch nervous, everything was going fine until we approached a young woman blowing bubbles for her little toddler. Those bubbles apparently were filled with the coronavirus, according to my husband. Who knew?

So we went back home and self-isolated and watched more about how many people have died on TV. Mitch thinks we should get the virus sooner rather than later while there are still ventilators available. (Jim Radford, if you are reading this, please call ASAP.)