Ugh.

Ran into Pollyanna at the supermarket. Her cart was, of course, filled with flowers and gift cards. I made the mistake of asking her how she was holding up in this pandemic thing. Lost track of her ‘Oh So Pollyanna’ response after the third ebullient paragraph.

I’m dressed as grubby personified. Haven’t showered or changed my underwear in weeks. Six months since I’ve had a shave or a haircut or a paycheck. I’m now furtively looking over my shoulder, hoping no one notices the pork roast I’ve shoved down the front of my sweatpants.

My reverie is interrupted when Pollyanna, finished checking out, looks me up and down and says, “Good seeing you. You look good.”

She’s a treasure. Good liar too.