AND THE VERY NEXT DAY . . .
Watching New Yorkers fold up like contortionists from Cirque de Soleil is very dispiriting.
Another episode with the canines.
I bundled myself in cold weather gear, and wrapped a Thundershirt around Mister Moose. Again, as far as Astro is concerned, the colder the better. We stepped outside.
Walked as far as the Hudson and took the boys down to the path that ran through Riverside Park. There remained some snowfall, but the path was clear. Ahead of us, one of the few people there at the early morning hour, a figure which looked like something out of Star Wars when Ben Kenobi slogged through the desert of Tatooine in his garb. Might have been a woman.
Yes, it was.
Covered from head-to-toe as though a member of the secret Siberian Muslim Sect of the Snowabbis. We approached on a collision course.
Our game of Covid Chicken continued until we were right next to each other. The woman literally ducked and threw her arm over her head in an effort to, I would imagine, not get the coronavirus from me. Or she was rehearsing her routine for the Martha Graham retrospective.
She righted herself and passed by. Not a word.
Perhaps the CDC should make an effort to better inform the public. I guess they can’t admit to being wrong.
And I do hope the poor, paranoid thing has a good chiropractor. Quite a bit of torque executed on that move.
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