Random Quaranscenes



See Charlize Theron there? In that scene from “Mad Max: Fury Road”? I feel EXACTLY like that when I head outside of my house these days. Except instead of an armored semi-truck, I’m in a sensible Subaru and instead of searching for scarce water or fuel, I need toilet paper. Badly.

True story: Even before there was a pandemic, one of my kids has always been angsty about dwindling toilet paper supplies. (Another worry — not such a big deal these days — when the gas gauge drops to a quarter tank.) So needless to say, it’s a pretty unfortunate thing that this weird TP hoarding dovetails with one of her anxieties. She’s been keeping careful watch on the stash in the storage closet and offers us all daily updates on how many rolls are left. For the past three weeks, despite our best efforts, we’ve been unable to procure the precious paper product.

My husband ventured to Target on Saturday, at 8:20 a.m. “You’re too late,” I told him. He went anyway. He came home empty-handed.

I tried Sunday, taking my place in line at 7:50 a.m. Seconds before the store officially opened, a red-shirted Target employee emerged from the sliding doors to tell us that their truck didn’t arrive so no paper products. Strike 2.

On Monday, I tried again. In my red armored semi-truck, er, Subaru, I inched past the building, surveying the line that stretched and stretched all the way to the loading dock. Probably 40 people deep. I won’t get any, I told myself.

I sighed and decided to pop into Albertsons since I was driving right past.

I don’t even know where toilet paper is in the grocery store. I walked quickly to the back of the store and saw a few packages on mostly empty shelves.

Wait, is that TP? Could it be? No way…

I bent down and sure enough, it was really, truly toilet paper. Two packages of regular and six of lavender scented. Raise your hand if you knew toilet paper came in a scent — before it’s used. Weird.

I grabbed the two packs and lugged them home where, no joke, my kid actually called me a hero.

“You’re like Wonder Woman,” she said with admiration.

Yeah, I’ll take it.

Later at my Zoom CrossFit session, I told everyone I’d already made a successful toilet paper run before our 8:30 a.m. class.

“Wow, you’ve had a productive morning!”

Now everyone in my house can be, uh, productive, too.




In a sure sign that my fashion sense is warping after so much sheltering in place, this sequin camo hoodie is everything. If it drops 90 percent, I’m gonna bite.


I’m afraid I might be starting to slip into quaranoia (quarantine + paranoia).

The other day, I was sitting at the dining table, noodling around on my iPad when I felt something brush against my leg. My little white dog waddled under the table and licked my calf and as I peeked at her — through my blue light-blocking, magnifying readers — and jumped. I actually said out loud, “Whose dog is that?!” Because, with those glasses on, she looked tan and, uh, bigger, too.



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