I’ve always been a bit risk averse. I don’t smoke. I wait for the “walk” light before I cross the street (usually). And, unlike our older son, I declined the opportunity to bungee jump 384 feet into the Zambezi River when we were at the Zimbabwe/Zambia border twenty years ago.
But these are desperate times that call for desperate actions.
So when I discovered that I was out of Trader Joe’s coffee ice cream, a staple of my diet that brings me to my “happy place,” I realized I had no choice. I had promised myself that when I turned eighty, I would have it for dessert every night, and for two years, I’ve mostly kept that promise.
So with masked face and wearing a pair of disposable gloves I went to Trader Joe’s during its early hour for seniors. People there politely stayed apart. About half wore masks.
If I had a bigger freezer, I’d be set.