Is That a Kid in Your Pocket or Are You Just Trying to Trick Me?

My Messy Home, The Zombie-Apocalypse Lockdown Day Number Twenty Or…

The Day the World Ran Out of Toilet Paper

Christ my house is a mess.

I’m sitting on my couch, its 1:00pm. I’ve done nothing so far today. Nothing. I got up at a reasonable hour, put the coffee on, looked through my pots and pans (I’m making soup stock today…maybe…at this rate the soup’s not going to be ready until after lockdown), talked to my best friend in Calgary about the contents of our refrigerators, laughed at her daughter’s background query about whether she could have some ‘expired’ food and now somehow it’s 1:00pm…I’m sitting here writing this, putting off cleaning my house.

I should go for my run. I’ll finish my coffee and go for my run. Then I’ll clean.

There’s a pair of sweatpants on the floor in the hallway outside the bathroom. I step over them as I go the bedroom to grab my sweatshirt. I’m oddly cold for someone suffering through perimenopause. Thinking about it I realize I haven’t had a single hot flash since the Zombie Apocalypse started.

Interesting, maybe there’s something there. Or not.

My kitchen island is populated by keys, an almost empty jar of pumpkin seeds, earbuds, a pen that’s out of ink (mental note to place in the junk drawer for requisite amount of time prior to garbage), a vitamin container, sticky notes, my wallet and a coffee mug containing the external battery pack charger thingy for my phone. And an onion. My fruit bowl is balancing on top of a box of fig bars. 50 Cent is swearing at me through my speakers (not sure what I ever did to him). My coffee table is sporting the medical tape I used to put pictures up with last week (pictures are hanging at weird angles now…), the Gorilla Tape I brought home from the office with which to re-hang said pictures and depilate my legs (#personalgroomingonabudget), alcohol wipes, push pins, the glucose gel pack I tuck into my shorts when I run, my fuzzy socks, last night’s glass of sparkling water (not so sparkling anymore) and a twist tie.

How did this happen?

I come to the conclusion that this is what happens when one actually ‘lives’ in the house they inhabit, instead of merely using it as a sleepover zone between shifts at work. I peer over my laptop at my toes. I gave myself a kick-ass pedicure the other day. My toenails are blue. I need a color dark enough to cover up the toenail on my right foot that’s bruised from running. My gaze travels to my unfinished puzzle. ‘Woodland Creatures Gone Bad’ are taunting me. If I’m ever going to be able to use my yoga mat again I need to finish this thing. I get up, put a couple pieces together and accidentally look into my spare bedroom.

The floor is covered in receipt piles (I started my 2019 taxes the other day), sheets from work, all washed and ready to go in six months or whenever the Zombie-Apocalypse is over, and a whiteboard (Oh look I do have one after all) to go with all those dry-erase markers that live in the Junk Drawer/’Man Drawer’…the man who doesn’t live here…

I shut the door. Room Number One cleaned. Easy peasy.

This gets me to thinking about my present living situation. My only real companions these days are Frank the moth and Gibson, my landlord’s dog. We’ve already discussed Frank, he’s not the ideal boyfriend at all. He eats all my food and doesn’t lift a finger/wing to help out around the house. If anything he makes more work for me…leaving his dusty little footprints on everything and not letting me know when we are out of cereal.

Gibson on the other hand is a food-oriented Chocolate Lab who makes his way down into my suite periodically to vacuum my kitchen and fall into a crumb coma on the living room floor. I’m ok with this. I tend to prefer the company of animals to most people and Gibson’s my kinda guy. Big brown eyes…strong and silent…does his share around the house…likes my cooking…knows when to leave…

In case you haven’t guessed, I’m single. Happy about the single. Content to live on my own and not have to worry about pants on the floor, receipt piles or the odd Cheerio crunching under my foot. Many of you in quarantine are trapped inside with husbands, wives or whatever your preference is for partnering these days and maybe even kids. I’ll be curious to see the stats on divorce when this is all over.

Yesterday I had inventoried my fridge and was short on a couple items for my soup so I decided to venture out of the house. I also wanted to buy myself a Sodastream. I like fizzy water, Gerolsteiner in particular. I like the glass bottles and the big bubbles (#sizematters). It’s my alternate beverage to coffee and wine…but at $2+/bottle it gets a bit pricey especially when I’m leaving glasses of the stuff out on the coffee table overnight.

I made myself a list of things I needed from the outside world. Zombies are increasing in numbers and the ‘theys’ of the world are telling people to limit trips out and about to flatten the curve of contagion. Makes sense to me.

Shortly before I was about to leave I opened the door to let my boyfriend out. I asked my landlord if he needed anything from the store and if they had enough toilet paper as it was on my list..I was down to eighteen and a half rolls. He mentioned that they were getting low, and were having a hard time finding some. Since I was the proud owner of so many and because I’m quintessentially Canadian…exceedingly nice, polite, all the claptrap that goes with the stereotype…I offered to give him some. After all they have been very good to me through all of this. So I gave him four.

As I watched him walk away with my gift I immediately went into panic mode. Four rolls…that’s at the very least a month of wiping if not more…Good lord I’m down to fourteen now. What have I done???

ShitshitshitshitshitSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT….

I went to the store…extra determined to find said essential supplies. I was on a mission. I had given my landlord what has become a black market item.

First stop: London Drugs.

• Sodastream…check
• More coffee…check (I’m down to 4 pounds)
• Triscuits…check (Dad would be proud)
• Contact lens solution…check (can’t run in glasses and need to be able to see clearly when running from zombies)
• Toilet paper…Nope…Zero. Rolls. Available.

My heart started racing. It’s London Drugs…surely everyone’s first pit stop. There’s a Dollarama across the parking lot, I’ll check there.

Second Stop: Dollarama

• Salad tongs…check
• LED candles…check
• Cute metal tin for my coffee…check

Focus Kristine, focus…why did you come here?

Right…toilet paper!

I walked up and down each aisle looking…it seems this place isn’t as ‘social distancing’ savvy as other stores and nothing is labeled. As I ventured down one aisle I felt someone behind me…practically breathing down my neck.

I turned my head to see some Dickhead (dick·head/ˈdikˌhed/Learn to pronounce noun VULGAR SLANG: a stupid, irritating, or ridiculous person, particularly a man) in some kind of hurry for I don’t know what…it’s not like he has anything to do these days other than to piss me off apparently… racing towards me down the aisle. He had no intention of slowing down nor keeping the requisite two meters that’s required these days. I figured he was one of those guys who overestimates the actual value of six inches, so two meters is obviously a difficult concept for him.

I gave him my best stink-eye…and for a quick second I wondered if it was my new friend from a few days ago. You know, the zombie who almost ran me over. The charmer whose face I want to wash with a nice Pinot Gris, although to be honest that would be a complete waste of good wine.

I furrowed my brow and said ‘Hey buddy back off a little already!!’

He stopped for a second…likely shocked that a sweet young thing like me would dare speak to him in such a manner. I kept walking…and as I got further away I heard him mutter ‘Stay at home already.’

Ya, ok. Whatever buddy. ‘Zombie-Confirmed’…chasing me down for a taste of my brains because clearly…none of his own.

Third Stop: Safeway

• Two perfectly ripe avocados, on sale…check
• Toilet paper aisle…empty

Dammit.

Fourth Stop: Natures Fare Market

This is one of those hippie-dippie shops. You know…organic food. Tofu. Soy Milk. Herbal supplements. Expensive Eco-Friendly toilet paper. No one shops here. Surely they have some…

• Dry roasted peanuts…check
• Dried papaya…check
• Toilet paper…Nope. Nope. Nope.

This is getting ridiculous.

Fifth Stop: Save On Foods

• Honey Nut Cheerios (emergency low blood sugar food…and also Frank asked)…check
• Milk (for cereal and tea)…check
• One Bottle of BC VQA Pinot Gris…check (White Rock and South Surrey Save-On stores carry BC VQA wines….location, location, location)
• Terra Breads Pistachio Nut Granola (must hide from Frank)…check
• Toilet Paper…I’ll give you two guesses…

Sigh…

Final Stop: Shoppers Drug Mart

I head straight to the toilet paper aisle.

One. Package.

I stopped…in shock for a moment. It must be a mirage. I looked away and tried not to rub my eyes in disbelief as I know the eyes are a gateway for the Zombie Virus. I composed myself and looked back only to lock eyes with a handsome ‘age-appropriate’ stranger…

Ummmmm….Oh!

Forgetting why I was there my gaze instinctually scanned down his perfectly sculpted left arm to his hand to check for a wedding ring (Single Female Habit #1). Not that it matters because let’s face it…if he’s gonna cheat he’s gonna cheat…may as well be with me.

What’s that there…?

SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT…..

No, there was no ring. It’s worse. This guy had brought his secret weapon to the store…

His four year old daughter.

She was all shiny and pink. Her blonde ringlets were slightly matted (she is with her dad after all) and the big chocolate-brown eyes she inherited from her father were blinking up at me…

This guy was smart. Calculating. Who’s gonna take toilet paper away from a gorgeous single dad with an adorable four year old girl in tow?

Not me…maybe Dickhead back at the dollar store but not me.

Giving him kudos for his battle plan I smiled at them and backed off. He looked at me while his little girl grabbed the 12 pack of Scotties.

‘Thank the nice lady Zoe’ he said to her while flashing me a flirty smile.

Hold up…

I’ve never been accused of being a lady before…was this guy flirting with me? Was he a Dickhead too? Getting me all fired up during quarantine? Or was he using his powers of seduction on me to distract me from his mission…to get the last rolls of toilet paper available on the planet? Christ…all this guy needed was a puppy and a fire hose and I’d give him my last roll.

I made a mental note to check the battery aisle on my way out.

Defeated, I went home with my stash of useless supplies. Pouring myself a glass of Pinot Gris I realized I got so distracted by ‘Hot Dad’ and my mission for toilet paper that I forgot to get what I needed for my soup. I wondered when the world would return to normal. Perhaps tomorrow morning…

Well it’s 4:30pm and I haven’t had breakfast yet. I should go for my run.