Masks

Just a little rant that’s a little too long for Twitter.

I hate wearing the masks.

Here’s a story:

I went to a store yesterday. The temperatures outside were in the high 80’s, I think, but the humidity was tolerable. The store itself was frigid, the air was moving, and it was cool inside.

But I was sweating bullets, despite the cold air on my neck and arms, because my fucking mask is like wearing a diaper on my face. There was sweat on my upper lip dripping into my mouth, for crying out loud. It’s hot. It’s uncomfortable. I can’t wear my glasses with it because the fogging is so bad (I don’t have a mask with a nose wire, yet), and my breath blowing up the nose into my eyes when I wear my glasses is intolerable.

The moment I got into my car, I ripped that fucker off and threw it on the passenger seat. I turned on the air full blast to try to get the sweat that seemed to have sweat off my deodorant under control. I was sweating under my arms, on my neck, under my boobs, not to mention the mask-shaped sweat patch on my face.

I’m still going to wear the fucking mask.

I’ll probably adopt the mask further, if we ever got a vaccine for this fucking disease and I get the vaccine, to don it any time I’m not feeling 100%, because it fucking makes sense. How did this get to be a societal norm in other countries but not here in the US?

I hate the fucking mask, and I’ll bitch about how hot and uncomfortable the fucking mask makes me, but I’ll wear the mask, and I’ll get grumpy about every single person who walks into my office without one without giving me a chance to put mine on (because in my little office where I’m the only person, I feel comfortable not having it on. If I have to walk outside or talk to someone, I’m putting that fucker back on).

Seriously, guys. In an office full of people, stand in the fucking doorway if you’ve decided you’re too good to not wear the fucking mask, even though it’s fucking required to fucking wear it, so I can put mine on and at least protect my-fucking-self.

Fuck.

So there’s that.

Don’t you dare ask me how I’m doing. It should be clear.