How easy it can be to forget

During lunch, I ran out to run a few errands.  It was a beautiful fall afternoon, and cool enough to where it was appropriate to wear one of the numerous hoodies that I own because I like hoodies.  I drove out of my neighborhood, admiring the beauty of fall leaves and colors everywhere, and the gratification in knowing that my own property no longer needed to be raked anymore, due to my hard work.

I parked my car, and popped the hatch and grabbed the garbage bag full of baby clothes that I was going to drop off at Goodwill.  I was two steps walking towards the building when it hit me that I wasn’t wearing my mask yet.  Annoyed at the brain fart, I set the bag down and quickly retrieved my mask from the driver’s seat console and put it on.

Eight months into the global pandemic, and here I am forgetting to put the mask that all people with a modicum of intelligence and/or courtesy make mandatory of themselves.  It’s like, the day felt so pleasantly ordinary for 30 seconds that I forgot that we’re still in the middle of the aforementioned global pandemic, and the dreadful reality that there’s literally still no end in sight.

Scary how the world can look and feel so ordinary, so back-to-how-life-used-to-be, but still be the arena where an easily-preventable but still devastating disease is always wafting around all over the place, indiscriminately waiting on some idiot with no sense or too much freedom to latch themselves onto, and keep the cycle of spreading alive for yet another victim.

Such a reality check was enough to reel me back from feeling pleased with the weather to feeling the need to be weary about the people around who may or may not be as CDC-compliant as I try to be with myself, and that the world is still a scary fucking place.  It’s scary just how easy it is to forget it sometimes.

New Father Brogging, #028

I was at a Target the other day, and while we’re checking out, I hear this little girl at the in-store Starbucks, ordering a caramel macchiato.  Now I think Starbucks’ caramel macchiatos are definitely tasty, but the thing is that this girl was like, ten years old.  And a Starbucks caramel macchiato probably has ten times the sugar and caffeine that a grown-ass adult ever needs in one sitting much less for a ten-year old twig of a girl.

Basically what I saw was a future Karen in the making, with a child already having developed a penchant for froufrou Starbucks coffee drinks, and for her own sake, it was good that the espresso machine was down, but I’m surprised that she or her completely disinterested looking dad didn’t demand to speak with a manager, and she walked away saying she was good instead.

One of my dreams now is to one day sit with my daughter in a coffee shop and have some coffee together.  However, seeing as how I would prefer for her to not start drinking coffee until she is like 17, that’s going to be a ways from now, but I’m willing to wait it out as long as I don’t risk stunting the growth of my daughter and/or make her a slave to caffeine as much as her dear old dad is.