Notes from a Pandemic

Professionals are advising we may never return to the custom of handshaking.  My Macho Bullshit dislikes that prognosis!  My Macho Bullshit loves delivering a good firm handshake, the sort that places the shaker in the Alpha spot of that binary situation.  A firm shake, a steady grip, a calm gaze into the eyes of the recipient.  Oh, how My Macho Bullshit will miss such dynamics.

My Macho Bullshit wonders for a moment whether fist bumps will be re-permitted, but doubts it.  Physical contact, probably a no-go.  MMB was stellar at fist bumping, could bump fists with the best of them, and could really out-bump most of them.  A strong, solid, on-target bump followed by a spectacular disaster of finger fireworks.  No one any  better at this, truly, than MMB.

MMB detects a sensation.  Is this a feeling?  MMB considers reaching for a Scotch but remembers that Scotch no longer does the trick, in fact plays other tricks, rather nasty ones involving headaches and lost time.  Hmmmm.  Feel the feeling, MMB tells itself.

This is a time in which to release, in which to let go of the stuff we no longer need.  Memo received; MMB is on it.  MMB is participating.  MMB has taken bags to Goodwill, back when Goodwill was still open!  MMB is letting go the veils of illusion: pedicures, a slim waist, white teeth, urinating in the correct places.   MMB is on board!

My Macho Bullshit is undergoing an existential crisis.   Is the thing that needs to be let go… is it… my macho bullshit?

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