I love that phrase -- wreaking havoc.
On a recent good day, as I was scrolling along on Facebook I came to a T Shirt that has “I’m Fine” written across the front. For sale. Not too expensive.
I ordered it.
What was I thinking? I just finished throwing out all my raggedy T-shirts with writing on them – all those tired boasts of vacation sites, colleges, cute clichés, cities I visited, countries I've been to, etc. A few years ago I decided I’m too old and too jaded to display advertisements and aphorisms on my chest. I vowed a plain T-shirt future.
The “I’m Fine” shirt hasn’t arrived yet, which makes me think it’s being shipped from Viet Nam or China or Thailand or somewhere far away because I ordered it more than a month ago. Maybe it’s a scam.
I almost ordered another T-shirt with a picture of a grand piano on it and the words: “Never underestimate an old woman with a piano.”
I resisted.
I ordered a pillow that’s supposed to hold my iPad in the position I choose – upright, or slightly slanted or kind of half-laying down. It’s supposed to provide the ideal angle for iPad viewing no matter where you are or how you’re seated, slumped or slouched.
About six weeks after I ordered the pillow, my credit card was charged, but the pillow was a no-show. Aha, a scam, for sure. I was about to notify my credit card company when it arrived, all smooshed and squashed into a cardboard box the size of a Snickers bar.
And it smelled funny.
After a week or so, it gradually poofed itself up into a pillow which, sadly, was about one third the size I had anticipated. I washed the pillowcase, which improved its aroma, but the pillow turned out to be unsuitable for any position I could possibly bend myself into: reclining, sitting bolt upright or slouching.
Lesson learned.
A couple of months ago, before I started getting all suited and masked up and going to an actual store, I used the last drop of my favorite moisturizer. I contemplated the consequences – dry flaky skin, more wrinkles, sun damage. So I bought a membership in Amazon Prime and ordered a bottle of the stuff.
The next day it was nestled invitingly between my front door and screen door. I looked up, anticipating a drone sighting. Not only had my package been delivered in a flash, I also got a nice email from Amazon telling me where it was and reminding me to be sure to look for it.
Lesson learned.
When I order a sweatshirt from my favorite designer, it offers free returns, which I love. I can order two or three sizes and send back the ones that are too big or too small. LL Bean actually encourages this.
Lesson learned.
But how many sweatshirts does one senior citizen need? I never go anyplace so I don’t need dressy stuff or new stuff or expensive stuff or even ironed stuff, or for that matter . . . clean stuff. But I keep ordering sweatshirts. I have one in every color, one for every occasion.
I recently ordered one lipstick. A couple pairs of socks. One pancake flipper.
And I’m not the only one in my family who has developed an online ordering addiction. One of my daughters is buying furniture for squirrels. Another daughter can’t stop adding to her a collection of MacKenzie-Childs pottery.
Yesterday, I ordered pencils.
Pencils!
I found a brand of pencil I love. A friend gave me one several years ago and I’ve been coddling it, nursing it, pampering it. I carry it from room to room because I like it so much.
The pencil is a Palomino Blackwing 602 and it’s especially nice for artists and writers and musicians. It writes smoothly and softly, erases completely, feels good. Great for crossword puzzles, which require lots of erasures and it's good for making notations on sheet music. It’s the Mercedes Benz of pencils, apparently, because I ordered a pack of 12 and -- with shipping -- the price mushroomed to almost $40.
That’s more than $3 a pencil!
The point, again: This quarantine is wreaking havoc.