Who would have thought that Little Cayman would suddenly become the Vegas of the Cayman Islands? Word is out that the curfew there has been dropped, along with enticing rumours of licensed premises opening their doors. Gasp! Nightlife!
That sleepy little island, known for its diving, cycling, relaxing and laidback way of life, is now Bacchanalia Central compared to its bigger sister. Imagine, walking out on the roads at 11pm, just because you can.
Apropos of nothing, I’ll be looking into the cost of a charter flight there, tout suite. This iguana is hungry.
It occurred to me this week, as I welcomed the landscapers back to my parched, overgrown lawn, that their garb really hasn’t changed in the face of the pandemic. For years, they’ve all been dressed like gardening ninjas, with material covering their heads, mouths and noses. Did they predict something we didn’t? Have we been looking for Nostradamus in all the wrong places? Let’s get them into the think tank and hear their thoughts on a vaccine, while we’re at it.
The leaf blowers were not a welcome sound, I’ll admit, particularly considering how quiet things have been recently, but I was happy to see my bushes being cut back. God forbid the prince can’t get to Sleeping Beauty.
While scientists have been working furiously on something to combat the coronavirus, I’d like someone to design a different method of testing. I thought I’d be holed up in Area 51 or creating mashed potato facsimiles of Devils Tower before someone took a four-foot Q-tip to my nasal passages. In fairness, I’ve had friends get the procedure, and they said it wasn’t that bad. “It tickled,” was the consensus. If tickling is the key to activating the enzymes or whatever is needed to check for COVID-19, could we look into taking the swab to my underarms instead? I’m ticklish in loads of places; we really don’t need to default to the nose.
I’d love to know how many people, five tequilas in, have rummaged around in their kitchen drawers for a chopstick to get a sense of what they’re in for; and, subsequently, what percentage has ended up in the emergency room. That’s my only point – we don’t want a ‘monkey see, monkey do’ situation cropping up. It’s got nothing to do with the fact that I’m hesitant to have my brain ‘tickled’ by a cotton swab … honest.
My quest to exercise every day remains as elusive as ever. I’m a night person, so come about midnight, I am full of vim and vigour in anticipation of walking – nay, jogging – at least two miles the very next day. Of course, by the following afternoon, I’m back to wondering if wearing Depends is the key to not having to actually get out of bed for 24 hours. Apparently, you can now get them in pretty colours and styles, but who am I trying to impress anyway?
My cat has taken to randomly using my duvet as a litter box when I least expect it, so that would keep any man at a decent social distance, I’m guessing. I can’t fathom why she’s doing it, unless she’s as tired of sheltering-in-place as the rest of us, or just fed up of having me at home so much. Maybe she doesn’t feel like getting out of bed for any reason either. Are there Depends for cats?
Yes, these are the questions that cross my worried mind when I’ve got nothing else to occupy it. Little Cayman, here I come.