On The Eve of Ebola

Okay, so now, this doc in NYC who worked in Guinea and then came home to normal hustle and bustle of living in NYC you know like, cabs and trains and take out, fluff and fold, stops at a coffee truck and, of course, the bowling alley to play a few frames.   Seriously.  This man is a doctor and he knows he was to follow the WHO protocol for containment from the outside world for 10 to 21 days and he went bowling.  Ah, yes, as if that is the first thing he just had to do in order to carry on.  Like, hey, he dint buy dat bowling shirt for nothin, ya know?

I call this the Eve of Ebola, because it feels like we are certainly on the brink of outbreak.  It’s bad enough that there have been terror threats against military families in our country.  Yeah, like we’re supposed to make it not so obvious that we are a military family and we are supposed to “act vigilantly” according to a message to us from the POTUS , but the gates to the base we live on are still a Code Green.  C’mon folks, you should at least ramp it up a bit to a Code Orange.  That would be intelligent AND viligant at all the same time.

So, what are we supposed to do now?  Oh, right: Stay Calm and Carry On.  Suddenly, I’m thinking that I may have to keep a machete by the front door in case  a terrorist shows up at my front door.  Last night, we ordered a pizza and I was practically sweating thinking of all the possibilities of who or what I would be faced with when I opened the door.  Like, maybe I was expecting an atomic pizza.

So, how can we cannot be anxiety ridden at this moment?  I think we are at the point where the best course of action is “Smile and Wave, Boys–Just Smile and Wave.”  What happens tomorrow?  Will we be smiling and waving with utility belts packed with all sorts of gear to fight off terrorists (my belt will have a bottle of olive oil, a box of spaghetti and a head of garlic) AND Ebola.  I can see it now.  The dogs and I will have to walk in a whole hazmat suit, face, snoot and tail protection, three pair of surgical gloves, thigh-high rubber boots covered with another layer of  hazmat protection, disposable leashes, my utility belt, a borrowed gun a good loaf of Italian bread, and I’ll be puling the cart full of prepper gear I never bought.

Oh, how I wish we lived in Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood so I know what Lady Elana would do, or Miss Kitty.

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