“You’re not normal.” One of my grandchildren commented, and the others nodded in agreement.
Why thank you! That’s the best compliment I ever got! Wait. Why aren’t I normal?
“Because most grandmas your age sit in a rocking chair and crochet.”
What? They do not!
I’ve never wanted to be normal. Normal is boring (Yawn.) Normal is monotone (Meh.) Normal is uninteresting (Zzzzz.).
That being said, why does the hair on the back of my neck bristle whenever I hear the term New Normal! I’m not sure I have hair on the back of my neck—that’s kinda gross—but hearing that term makes my skin crawl. Ew, that’s worse. Let’s just say it irritates me. What’s wrong with the Old Normal? I don’t like the New Normal people are referring to.
What if I want to shake hands or heaven forbid hug someone? What if I don’t want to carry hand sanitizer for the rest of my life or wear a fashion mask even if it does make me look younger? I’m not “normally” a social butterfly, but I want the old normal, when I could social-distance on my own terms.
It’s not normal to have to buy crappy toilet paper (pun intended) and use it sparingly. It’s not normal to wait 2 weeks instead of 2 days for Amazon Prime purchases to arrive. It’s not normal to see a sign in a store limiting an item to one per customer.
Unless you live in Nazi Germany or Communist China, it’s not normal to have to comply with the demands, commands, orders or whims of those who love power. I’m a big girl and can make most decisions wisely on my own, or make mistakes and deal with the consequences without being directed or corrected.
Maybe I’m just old and set in my abnormal ways but I refuse to make living in fear normal.