So it was a lovely morning. I had breakfast with 2 fine gentlemen: Michael, my friend Norman's middle son, and Josh, Barry's youngest. Michael is in from Israel, where he operates a genealogy research company, and Josh had some time before his daily errands began. I suggested we meet at Bagel Emporium.
I left my house early, as usual, parked, sat down, and ordered coffee. Before it came, it occurred to me I was in the wrong place -- Roasters! Oy, to get old. Luckily, my typical habit of being early came in handy, and I jumped back in the car and made it to the Emporium just 5 minutes late. The young men were already there.
We had a delightful time -- talking about life, careers, politics, and our hilarious and quirky families. We are all quite excited about being able to attend Canes games again in the Fall, now that the plague is on the retreat. And Michael plans to spend more time in the US -- the better to attend our epic tailgate parties.
It's great to spend time with young people. Little of the talk is about doctors and chronic health conditions. I remember what my Dad said about socializing when he first moved to Delray in '79: "Everyone only talked about their cardiologists, urologists, and which bank paid the highest CD rates." My Dad spent less time at dinners and more home reading and watching Channel 2.
Anyway -- we finished and walked outside. Several feet away, there were 2 Gables firefighters. I noticed their big rescue truck -- it was parked next to my girlie Lexus. An overweight, blonde woman walked toward the door -- maybe around my age. She had an expression on her face that is best described in Yiddish: farbissiner. Closest English translation: sourpuss.
One of the paramedics opened the door for her. She turned and glared at him, and asked, accusingly, "And why aren't you wearing masks???!!!" He answered politely "Well, ma'am, we're outside, and following the CDC guidelines."
"No! No one really knows what the rules are, and you SHOULD wear masks." Typically, I never insert myself into brouhahas that don't involve me, but this woman looked completely physically unthreatening, and I couldn't help myself.
I said "Gentlemen -- what she MEANT to say was 'Thank you both so much for your fine service -- for risking your own lives to save all of us.'" The zaftig farbissiner turned and walked in, disgusted.
The third firefighter came out. He was an Enrique Iglesias look alike, but more fit. I thought to myself, these guys must get CRAZY p, um... thanks from ladies who aren't Karen-like. They chuckled and thanked me and got into their truck -- waving as they left.
Ah -- people. Thankfully this ended well -- no one came back to the scene with automatic weapons and carpeted us with deadly shells. That's been happening a lot, too.
I came home, and a young Wal-Mart delivery fellow was at the front gate. He had pool floats -- I didn't order them. Sure enough -- D2 did. She's planning a pool party to celebrate Jonathan's birthday, and realized we're deficient in the pool float department.
The funny thing is -- she ordered them this morning. They arrived mere hours later!
What a country we have. Entitled Karens giving grief to handsome firefighter/paramedics, and you get your Wal Mart stuff the same day -- for free delivery.
Ah -- what crazy times are these...
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