Going Out

Today, a friend I haven’t seen since February invited to me socially-distance walk with her and her dog in Weston. I went. It was beautiful. Weston is the country compared to Westport. I’d never been there, aside from the post office. My friend lives on top of a hill and on our walk, I saw craggy cliffs, a waterfall, a herd of deer, a black frog, a fox, and too many chipmunks to count. The chipmunks riled up my friend’s beagle/basset hound, and the dog kept making a pathetic whine like, “I wants! I wants!”

It was so lovely to see my friend. She is the first person to invite me to do anything since mid-March. I wonder if people are afraid to meet, or if they were sick of me anyway and social distancing was a welcome break. I teased my friend and called her “my gateway drug back into society”. I had so much to say to her, my throat hurt. I already long for another playdate. I’m like the whiny beagle: Who can I see next?! Who can I see next?! I wants!

My husband got into poison ivy last week. He’s highly allergic and is miserable. The calamine lotion we had in the linen closet expired in 2007. We had two tabs of Benadryl in the first aid kit. They probably expired in 2005. For some reason, my husband has decided that it’s okay for me to walk with my friend, and it’s okay for me to go to Whole Foods, but CVS and Walgreens cross a line, and he is adamant that I should not go. He stands there, arguing with me, while scratching his arms like a crazy person. I decided that he can be adamant and I can do what I like.

On my way to pick up Indian take-out lunch today, I stopped at CVS in Norwalk. There was a man outside, panhandling. He had a mask on, and he asked me for a dollar. I lied and said I had no cash. To give him some would have meant getting too close. I felt bad about it. He told me to have a nice day. I wished him the same. I drove home, thinking I should have given him the money.

As I turned into my driveway, my husband came out to greet me. He laid down in the grass, flung his itchy arm onto the blacktop, and said, “Please. Make it stop. Just cut it off. Run it over. End my misery.” Oh, the drama! I rolled my window all the way down and hollered, “Come a little closer! Get your whole head in there! If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right!” He looked alarmed and stood up. I pulled the car all the way in and hucked the box of Benadryl at him as I drove past, but I carried in the calamine lotion like a civilized person.