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It’s time to face the facts: Don’t touch your face

As our collective stock in toilet paper recovers from the horrific Charmin crash of March 2020, (I found several rolls for sale on eBay), I’m reminded of Donald Trump at the beginning of the month in a meeting with airline CEOs amid the coronavirus sprawling across the globe.

White House coronavirus response coordinator Deborah Birx talked about the importance of washing one’s hands and face as a preventative measure.

Trump quipped that he had stopped his frequent face touching, but it hasn’t been easy. 

“I haven’t touched my face in weeks” Trump said with much aplomb. “I miss it.”

Miss touching your face?

I suppose there is always that innate knee-jerk reaction. But when that happens to me, and I see someone being a jerk, I suddenly get the urge to knee them.

I wash my face incessantly, but the same ugly mug keeps rising to the surface. I may have to try a pumice stone.

As I work remotely, wander about the house, or pour myself a Jameson neat (not simultaneously), I figure cleanliness is becoming more and more important since godliness seems completely out of the question.

And there’s no better cure for vanity than self-isolation.

Remember as you might be sheltering in place: bathing twice a day will get you really clean. Bathing once a day will make you passable. And bathing once a week will make your family loathe you.

So, as we live our lives like an endless loop of “The Andromeda Strain,” social distance ourselves from the world, as well as the other person sitting on the same living room couch and we self-isolate out for reasons of health and pure disinterest, I stared down at my Apple watch to see my activity update. It said, “Reply hazy, ask again later.”

As you walk into a room forgetting why you went in there in the first place and can’t wait for a domestic prison break, consider all the things you can’t wait to do. But in the meantime, consider a list of things you should avoid at all cost, especially, touching your face:

Never ask an exotic dancer to break a twenty.

Never take a sleeping pill and a laxative the same night.

Never lower the volume on your car stereo in lieu of asking Google for directions.

Never apply make-up while driving, unless you’re late for a class at clown college.

Never sneeze on a patient if you’re a doctor, unless that person is a hypochondriac, in which case, enjoy a moderately long sneezing fit.

Never try to lift something heavy while in the nude.

Never sleepwalk if you live in an ivory tower.

Never let a urologist buy you a drink.

Never lick a steak knife. Especially if you’re in a restaurant and the knife is on somebody else’s table.

Never go to a doctor who has dead plants in his waiting room.

Never have more children than you have car windows.

Never drink to forget and never forget to drink.

Never vacation in paradise and then look at your passport photo. It’s a huge letdown.

Never clean your house while your kids are home. It’s like shoveling while it’s still snowing.

Never give up on your dreams. Keep sleeping.

On the other hand, if you’re as bored as a blind man watching a silent movie, make a list of clever (or insipid) things to do while home or the next time you ever find yourself reentering society (sometime in the distant future.)

Ask Siri if she knows Alexa and say “She owes me money. Shake her down.”

On that note, tell Alexa you like big butts.

If you life seems pretty repetitive at this point, pop a few placebos.

Go to the drive-thru at Burger King and ask where McDonald’s is.

Go to the pet store and pick up a bag of bird seed, then ask the clerk how long it will take for the bird to grow.

Read someone else’s diary. Trust me, you’ll get what you deserve.

Take up jogging. That’s one way you’re sure to hear some heavy breathing again.

Enjoy an audio book and learn to live with compromise.

Eat a bowl of rice. It’s great when you’re hungry and want 2000 of something.

If you need to clean your room, sweep it with a glance. Odds are it’s not going anywhere, and neither are you.

George Pelletier may be reached at 603-594-1245 or gpelletier@nashuatelegraph.com.

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EDITOR’S NOTE: This content is being provided for free as a public service to our community during the coronavirus outbreak. Please support local journalism by subscribing to The Telegraph at https://home.nashuatelegraph.com/clickshare/checkDelivery.do;jsessionid=40C089D96583CD7318C1C1D9317B6162.

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