Mask America

A couple of days ago I shopped the web for masks, something I swore I wouldn’t do way back in March, right after my son’s school switched to online education, after I’d purchased non-medical grade masks for my family, and before ads for decorative masks dominated my social media feeds, ads I knew were coming, but hoped wouldn’t, was deeply in denial about, but deep down knew were on their way like John Snow’s WINTER and here we (still) are: masks, masks, masks.

I dread a masked person stopping me in my local Albertsons, commenting: OMG I luuuuv your mask! Where did you get it?

IMG_1951

Foyer masks

I don’t want wearing/buying masks to become a norm.

I want this pandemic to be beaten down, like it’s been beaten down in other countries I’m banned from visiting.

Context: The family member who had the most power and influence over me my whole life until last summer, died, in part, from a lifelong addiction to denial, due, I’m convinced, to NPD–Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

Blood relative.

Big, huge I KNOW WINTER AND WINTER IS BEAUTIFUL IT’S A VERY VERY BEAUTIFUL WINTER AND IT IS NEVER COMING NEVER type of influence.

My whole life.

I purchased bandanna patterned masks on Zulily, had them sent to my little sister, an aesthetician in Iowa. I ordered extra masks for my tween and spouse. I ordered a mask patterned in a dragonfly for me, and have bookmarked a mask featuring Biden’s sunglasses and the American flag. This December, masks will be included with Christmas presents mailed to family.

Yours in fu****g safety,

PB

 

About PB Rippey

Writer, wife, mother, fortunate. Fiction, memoir, poetry, kidlit (MG), member SCBWI. pbwrites.wordpress.com
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