Bugged by the bug

COMMENT | On Monday night, naïve I decided to drop by the neighbourhood sundry shop to pick up a bottle of fresh milk for my wife. A couple of hours later I was to pick her up, returning from Jakarta, at KLIA. No Grab for her. Who knows who has been spraying what in the car before her?

Don’t worry. She has imposed a two-week quarantine on herself. If only it was just that. The past couple of days and nights, the sight of me reading a book or lounging in front of the TV has prompted the sticking of a thermometer in my armpit to confirm that I am not a fiery furnace.

I have had to confirm a few times that it’s a hot day and that she doesn’t need to reach for the thermometer.

A cough from a careless swallow of fried rice prompted a searching glare, dimmed when I assured her a drink of water would settle things. In the usual nature of banana peels that life throws in all our paths, the throat itches into 4-5 more coughs. I came "this close" to my wife inviting a team of hazmat-clad men to dinner.

Back to the sundry shop, and what the… a queue of people waiting to get into the mob-filled shop.

Went to a nearby supermarket. A long queue at both cashiers, but the rest of the supermarket was not infested with a crowd. Got the milk. Get eggs… to be greeted by a woman slowly assessing eggs from two trays of 30 eggs each, switching eggs till she had found the 30 microscopically biggest eggs. 

My death-ray glare at her fat back didn’t scorch her flab and jolt her attention, so I decided to leave……