I’m as rugged as they come, being, as an old friend used to say, a “Modern Western Woman,” western meaning the West which is right here where buffalo roam and every second pick-up has a driver wearing a c’boy hat. I am self-reliant, don’t mind getting dirty and laugh at pain. Haha, pain.
So today I made my way to the big city and the supermarket. I never make a list because I’m rugged and don’t need frou-frou like that. The store was pretty empty except for the usual c’boys, farmers, Amish, and retirees. I went to find probiotics (since the antibiotics of the surgery, my digestion has been a little rugged) and saw there was NO ONE IN LINE AT THE PHARMACY.
“Get a flu shot,” said a still, small voice within. “Now’s the time.”
Always listen to the still, small voice within.
It takes a lot of guts to march up to that window and say, “I want a flu shot” and then they offer you one for pneumonia, too, because you’re a rugged OLD person which is even more rugged than a rugged young person. You’ll find out.
So I filled out a paper, handed over my Medicare card, and waited. People came and went. A cute little Hispanic boy about three showed me his very excellent Kung Fu moves, but since I’m so rugged, I just smiled. His mom informed me that the kid is a character. A little later a Hispanic farmer sat down beside me and said in the magical accent I’ve loved since I was a kid, “You getting a flu shot?”
“Yep,” I said which is how rugged Western people say, “Yes.”
The pharmacist called me and I went into a little room where I discovered I couldn’t get my long sleeve up high enough for him to give me a shot. No worries. Us rugged Western women wear undershirts, so I slipped my left arm out of the sleeve.
He did a good job with the shots. I hardly felt anything — and I told him.
“The pneumonia shot often hurts,” he said.
“Life is pain,” I said, grinning, embracing the misery of existence as any rugged, stoical western woman should.
Then he said, “Before you put your sleeve back on, let me see if it’s bleeding.”
I said, “I want a Band-aid. Even if it’s not bleeding, Band-aids make it feel better. Especially a Mickey Mouse Band-aid.
“Right?” he said, rummaging around in his Band-aid cabinet. “Oh!!! Wait, I have Loony Tunes Band-aids, wait!” As if I were going anywhere.
I am now wearing a Daffy Duck Band-aid on my rugged left arm.
I walked out, and the Hispanic farmer said, “I saw on the news there’s a new flu strain that kills people.”
“That’s fun,” I said. He grinned.
“Pretty soon we’ll all be wearing masks.”
“I want a Batman mask,” I said. Only Batman is more rugged than I am.