The work of wings

It must be November, because I just found myself googling "heated office chair," and yes, there is such a thing, but no, I don't want one because they're ugly. I wouldn't say no to a sheepskin throw, though. I'm clearly already spoiled by the heated seats in our new (to us) CAR. I am in love with the heated seats.* Also with the windshield wipers that actually make it so you can see through the windshield in the rain, instead of smearing the water around. A pandemic is not the optimal time to buy a car, but it had to happen. Our trusty old girl nearly made it to 250,000 miles! We are I am calling the new one Virginia Woolf. She's a wagon, so there's room to toss a litter of puppies in the back! 

I keep taking photos of COVID signage, for after. We're back to constant mask wearing, to spending as little time in the store as possible, to stocking up on flour and toilet paper and lentils, and strategically planning grocery deliveries so they don't coincide with the constant construction on our street. So many interactions are with a masked face in a window, or a masked face so far away that I can't hear what they're saying and I just smile (smize) and nod. It's going to feel weird to eventually go back to being unmasked; I expect to feel exposed.

As Isaac said back in March when they shut down the basketball courts, put caution tape across the hoops, "THIS IS THE WORST PANDEMIC EVER."

*I swear I wrote this the day before yesterday, before this article came out. I agree that heated car seats are the antidote to our grief, but unlike the author I experience nothing erotic about it. It's 100% "child in the lap of some warm, benevolent bear" for me.