Epilogue – Alternatively purposed

She opened the door, peered within, then, sighing, closed it. Three days of leftovers; time to transform, Chopped-wise, or commence discarding. She didn’t like to waste. As she stood in the kitchen, straining for possible permutations of three widely dissimilar dishes into a marginally palatable meal, her thoughts were interrupted.

He: Eh. I go pick up for us from that new lunchwagon.
She: No, not today.
He: Why not?
She: Because…there’s a lot of food in the house?

Seeing his disappointment, she relented, secretly grateful for the reprieve.

She: Okay, okay, let’s try.
He (brightening): What you like?
She: I’ll look at the menu.
He: No, no, tell you what – we go together!
She: Sounds good, let’s go.

As she fastens her seatbelt, her sensibilities are assaulted by an offensive visual.

She: You know, it just doesn’t look good, the pantiliner in the cupholder.
He: Oh, no worry, that’s clean. It’s extra, in case I gotta change ‘um.
She: Yes, I know why – but does it have to be in the open like that? Can’t it go in the glove compartment?
He: Take it easy. Never mind always worrying what people think, you. Look like one mask, anyway.

They arrive, and excitement morphs into concern at the sight of no line – but the proprietors are already smiling a welcome, so there is no turning back. Reaching for their masks, they exit the car. After a few steps, she calls to him without turning.

She: Are you coming?

Now looking to see what has held him up, she sees him pressing a pantiliner to his chin, feeling for the ear loops that aren’t there, then abruptly spinning on one heel, headed back toward the car.

He (chuckling): Oops. I thought was one mask.