CHICKEN LITTLE OR THE SKY IS FINALLY FALLING

 Gail Writes: Part III

Gail Forrest

Gail Forrest Comedy Writer Chicken Little

It finally happened in my lifetime – the sky was falling.  I remember the exact day a piece of it hit me on the head: March 14, 2020.   I was doing my best impersonation of Chicken Little running around holding my head in my hands, screaming “the sky is falling, the sky is falling!”  My brain was spinning into butter from fear of everything:  I had just finished wiping down every square inch of my airplane seat for fear of little virus particles waiting to jump on me if I missed a spot.  I spent the four hours flying from Palm Springs to Chicago staring into space wishing I was anywhere but trapped in a metal tube with humans who had recently become the enemy.   Kitchen counters, silverware, the refrigerator, gas pumps, other humans, all door handles and knobs in a 1,000 mile radius and my own hands!  Oh no, did I just touch my face and forget to wash my hands?  I might have, I did, I didn’t, I can’t remember.  I’m dazed, confused and only have 6 rolls of toilet paper in the cabinet beneath the sink.  Will that last, will I?  My hand has become one with the remote as I channel surf from one news outlet to the next, and OMG did I sanitize it before I surfed?  I almost washed my hair with sanitizer before I snapped back into consciousness.  No one has mentioned that yet have they?  My eyes are blood red as I have been staring at the TV for so long that I think I forgot how to blink.  What I really need is sleep, calm, and a Xanax drip. 

Dr. Fauci, I have checked my temperature at least 45 times in the last hour.  Do I really think I can develop a fever that fast – yes!  My hand/arm is suddenly on auto response to check my cheeks to see if they’re extremely hot or medium hot, or mildly hot or not.  I will get tennis elbow if I can’t stop myself soon.  I haven’t coughed in weeks but am convinced I have one. Uh oh, have body aches set in?  Nope I just tripped and fell on the rug running to clean my hands so I can use my iPhone. But hold on a sec, don’t I have to wash my phone too? Ironically I have spent years desperately trying to keep my phone safe from water. The phone, my hands, my face, my mind, which will go first? 

Meanwhile the stock market is falling faster than the sky.  For one brief shining moment I am excited to be too poor to have bought any.  Then I remember I am still poor.

I decide to take the dog for a walk and pick up pieces of the sky as I go.


 

Writer, Comedian, Author of Gonepausal