Another tiny hole
Another day, another tiny hole in my arm. As contracted, the pharmacy furnished my flu shot. For free. All I had to do was provide my provincial ID and show up at the right time and place. I like my socialized medicine. And given my “advanced age”, I received the SuperShot. Left my spouse jealous, because obviously I will be “better” at any combat during the winter. I have no intention of coming into contact with the bug, now that I have the quarantine mindset, but I’m careful (and willing to take better doses of vaccine, when offered.)
Left to find my own way back home, I convinced the dog that a new bag of chow might be something to consider. Also, my peach basket was empty, and I already had a mask from my triumphant drugstore tour. Off to the grocery store. Still empty, on a weekday morning, so any time I had to “swim against the current”, due to ignoring arrows, it went well. And there was even a short conversation on the store doorstep with an old buddy from college. Yes, I’m that old. And even if he is technically one of my closest neighbours, we both abhor visiting. A quick eyeball on the tarmac is sufficient to prove we are both still alive.
And then, home again. My day has been quiet, although there’s a slight discomfort with the new hole. That, too, shall pass. Another benefit of getting older; one knows what to expect from a needle. Babies are unable to guess the effect, so they howl. Not we old-timers.
