Warning: This essay contains disgusting descriptions. Think ten-year-old-boy gross.
My company just put out a memo that we should should change masks every four hours! Who are they kidding? When it comes to mask changing, I think like a little kid with dirty underwear. Change those knickers once or twice a week and we’re good to go! I plan on this box of 50 3-ply breathable disposable masks to last well into next year.
Let me describe the “mask scenario” in my household of four, which is my husband and I and our two “kids” that are home from college for their endless break. We come home from our errands, be it the grocery store, walk/run in the park, hanging with friends or most recently, from the office. Most of us will toss our disposable mask on the microwave, the hamper, the dining room table, or the floor. You get the picture. To be honest, it’s pretty convenient. When one of us is in a hurry to leave, there is always a mask to be found or stepped on.
My husband wears a Marvel characters cloth mask my friend stitched him. He gets so many compliments on it, that he’ll be wearing that thing into the next decade, whether it’s needed or not. (Sure as hell better not be!) The second he walks in the door, the mask goes in his pocket. He does not share!
My son only throws a mask away if it gets that furry feeling inside. You know, like there’s little caterpillars crawling around on your lips.
I can’t speak for anyone else’s mask, but mine experiences a lot. It has absorbed my tears, my snot, my sweat, my cough and 70 mph sneezes. Most importantly, it absorbs and camouflages my burps. Luckily, I have yet to throw-up in one! (Never say never, though.) One would assume after a day of use, I would come home and dispose of this soiled, disgusting three-layer mass of bodily fluids, right?
Well. . . by the time I get home from my latest sweat-stained run or crying jag, the mask has gone from being drench in salty, disgusting wetness to spin cycle and is now rather dry. I forget the ordeal my mask has gone through and toss it on the microwave as I pass the kitchen on my way to wash my hands and splash water on my face.
My daughter sails past me on her way out the door. Five minutes later, I hear her stomping back into the apartment with “that look” on her face. The look every single one of us have worn. It’s the “I forgot my gawd damn mask” look and had to return home. She grabs my overused, germ-ladened (BUT DRY) mask from the microwave. Apparently the one she dropped on the floor the night before got kicked out the door earlier. I open my mouth to suggest a different mask that is laying about, but she exits so quickly that I just shrug my shoulders as she slams the door.
We are family, after all. It’s not the first time it’s happened and it won’t be the last. These masks have become part of our family attire and we have embraced (knowingly or not) the “share and share alike” mantra.
Disclaimer: The writer is not an advocate of this practice. She is just sharing how things are. Be well everyone.
