Reconnaisance

   

      (Visual proof of the inferiority of okra, the only vegetable I will not eat. 

      Rejected even in a pandemic.)

  Our beaches are closed. I’ve learned that the measure was less about the virus and more about discouraging a wave of alcohol-fueled springbreakers from storming over to our side of the state from Daytona, etc.

          And when my husband came home from the Wawa (ridiculously named convenience store) to report that they’d shrinkwrapped their outside tables to prevent use, I knew we were in for the long haul.

I skipped my morning walk to hotfoot it to the grocery store instead. I figured if there was going to be anything there, it would more likely be first thing in the day. We’re really in fine shape here, but I was getting low on fruits and vegetables, and who doesn’t love a scouting mission?

          The store was out of wipes for the cart, so a gentleman organizing the carriage pointed to three he’d herded together. “Those are clean. I just wiped them.”

          The sections for chicken or beef – thin to bare. Check.

          Bread limited to two loaves per purchase – Fine, didn’t need any.

          No toilet paper, sanitizer of any kind, paper towels -  No surprise there.

          But no liquid dishwasher liquid? Was that the breaking point? Did my fellow shoppers resolve, “I may be eating pasta for three days straight, but I’m not washing the dishes by hand afterwards, dammit!”

          Shopping decisions of today. Three kinds of fish (freezer), vegetables with staying power, assorted basics, plus chips and cookies because we just deserve them.

          And one of the most civilized things about Florida – wine in the supermarket.

          Two bottles – check.

          Those, plus the lottery tickets I bought and we’re all set.