Save Your Sleeves, Buy Corona Cuffs

The only thing I don't miss about bagels is cutting them.  For me, the neighborhood hospital in Chicago had only been my polling place until the day I needed stitches.  The nurse did the prep and the doctor yelled from the other room, "It's Sunday morning. Is it another bagel injury?"

I had the stitches and the bandage long enough to pick up some strange new habits. I wasn't required to keep my finger straight with my hand in pistol position, but for some reason that's how I felt most comfortable.  Several weeks later when I lost the bandage, I didn't lose the pistol.

My fear of the Coronavirus in Italy has brought on a handful of new habits.  In fact, tomorrow I'm going to make some Corona Cuffs.  They'll be much more practical than gloves and I'll save money on replacing my t-shirts that now have extra long sleeves (from being stretched over my fingers to touch all that needs touching). 

Opening doors, turning on faucets, checking the fridge, turning on lights, pulling out chairs, opening the fireplace, sweeping, opening the door, turning on the shower (well, I guess I'm sleeveless at that point, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't stand there perplexed for a second) are all done with my sleeves.  The undoing of these tasks is done with my sleeves, too. And when my sleeved-hands are carrying the Nutella jar and crackers, some say I could still eat pasta with my elbows.

I'm quite sure this is unnecessary and to most, quite ridiculous. After all, I'm doing this in my own house after a daily dose of alcohol for every knob and handle. The last time I read about the length of time the virus lives on surfaces was when they were testing it in China and no one seemed certain....two hours here and 7 days there.  At this point, my sleeves may well test positive, but at least I don't accidently put them in my mouth or nose (I mean eyes).

In general I'm far from phobic when it comes to dirt and germs. I agreed with my father-in-law when he told new moms on the beach that their kids would be stronger with a few mouthfuls of sand. The story shocked my Italian friends who don't leave home without baby wipes even though their kids are in college. I don't carry hand sanitizer and the idea of using the restroom at a pizzeria seems grosser than eating pizza with my germ-infested hands, but I suppose those days are gone.

The only time I used to worry about germs was traveling.  On a six-hour slow train in India my seatmate and I were silent until the last 30 minutes of the trip when he thanked me for the hygiene lesson.  He'd spent two years living in New York City and this train was bringing him home. On the trip he copied everything I did. He had to learn how to approach his country as a tourist (a smart one). His body could no longer handle the habits he'd had before leaving.

There was a meal provided on the trip and he only ate what I ate.  I refused the bread because it may have been touched by dirty hands.  I certainly didn't eat the lettuce that might have been rinsed with dirty water. I accepted the juice box with it's clean plastic-sealed straw glued to the side and I refused the coffee.  And unbeknownst to me, my new friend did the same.

When we finally come out of lockdown in Italy I'm going to have some new habits to break.  Pulling down my sleeve to turn on a light has become natural even when I'm sleepwalking to the bathroom.  That's why Corona Cuffs will come in handy.  I'm making them out of scraps that were too cute to cut for my rainbow yesterday. They're just colorful long tubes that hide innocently in your sweater sleeves. In six months when I still have the urge to pull at my sleeve, the cute cuffs will be there as a handy accessory. You only pull them out when you really need them. I'm in Italy, the fashion capital of the world.  If I market them right, no one will leave home without them. 

It wasn't hard to explain my pistol in Chicago weeks after the unbandaging.  I can only hope the Italians will be as understanding if I'm still eating pasta with my elbows in August.