I Caught You Knocking at My Cellar Door

People keep asking me if I’ve gotten vaccinated. Do I look like I’m 70? Jesus H. I’m sixty, people, but still a child at heart. Still I child in so many ways. Or perhaps more accurately, childish. Or immature. Or let’s just say it: obnoxious. So now, here we are, the sixty-somethings are teed-up for the vac. Where’s my AARP card? Where’s my Depends? Where’s by senior citizen discount. Arm, meet needle. Here is my fear. My fear is that having been at home for 11 months that I have a little Stockholm Syndrome mixed with my natural desire to say in my office at my desk staring at a screen that is destroying my one good eye. I was afraid of dinner parties before now. I don’t like to socialize. I’m happiest on my two hour train ride into NYC and I’m not doing that for a while. I’m happiest in a movie and until they make a mask where you can shove popcorn into your face, that isn’t happening. I will get vaccinated, but I wonder if I’ll be able to step outside.

Did you get it?