My body is not a wonderland, not in a pandemic
I look at my damp, naked body in the mirror and rub some of the eczema cream I’d just purchased from Rite-Aid between two palms. Thick and goopy. Hmmm.
“So, that’s how it is,” I say to my reflection. “You’re not only going to be soft and roll-y and dough-y and flesh-y but you’re also going to be bumpy and red and itchy? As if we weren’t going through enough right now in this pandemic? You couldn’t just stay quiet? You had to rebel?”
She didn’t say a damn thing back. I coat her in a layer of this unscented crap, encased in plastic. I can’t believe I risked COVID-19 exposure for this glorified Vaseline. There is no way I am going to display its embarrassingly simple tub, even if nobody is coming over to use my bathroom for at least another year. Nope, this thing is going straight under the sink, behind the toilet brush, where it belongs.
It’s August 2020 and we’re having a heat wave in Los Angeles. I know better than to wear silk while sweating. But I’m trying my best to salvage what is left of the previous me, the me of yesteryear who couldn’t know that not having itchy skin was something to be grateful for. So I put on my prettiest, loosest clothing — a Natori kimono style robe. I’m not quite ready to break up with my self esteem. Maybe I’ll feel back to normal if I wear something expensive? But the…
