Before the pandemic hit, my husband took me out every Sunday for brunch. It didn’t seem like anything that spectacular—just a way to make the day a bit more special, and relieve me of having to cook a meal. And then the covid-19 pandemic gripped the nation. At first, we weren’t too worried here in the Heartland. Only one or two new cases a day. And then it began to skyrocket. Hundreds of cases, numerous deaths in what we had considered our safe little city. The Sunday brunches we had taken for granted came to a grinding halt. And now, finally, after sixty Sundays of frying bacon & eggs, fixing toast, peeling oranges, making hot chocolate– my days of fixing Sunday brunch at home had ended. Hallelujah!
And yet, as I was preparing to get dressed, I was surprised to feel a bit of social anxiety. What should I wear? There were clothes hanging in my closet from two summers ago, that I hadn’t worn since. During that last, lost summer, I wore nothing but old jeans and shorts and t shirts. After all, I was wearing a mask. No one would recognize me at the supermarket. . There was no point in wearing makeup, or caring about my appearance at all. Now, I was going out in public, barefaced. . It gave me a bit a stage fright.
Surprisingly, my old pants and tops still fit. I’ve gained a pound or two, but not enough to bump me up a size. That was a big relief. But was my summer apparel outdated? Were people still wearing culottes? I finally decided on an outfit that hadn’t been worn since the summer of 2019. Consequently, looking at myself in the mirror surprised me. I looked okay. When we were ready to leave, my husband and I eyed one another with approval. It had been a very long time since we had been that “dressed up.”
The restaurant was nearly full, and few customer’s wore masks. The wait staff was still masked, and I felt sorry for them, knowing how hot and sweaty they feel after an hour or so. Otherwise, things seemed pretty normal. There were no surprising new fashions to make me feel out of date. People were dressed much the same as they had sixty Sundays ago. Men in shirts and shorts, women in slacks and sundresses. Little kids so excited that they could barely finish their meals. As we walked out the door, a wave of contentment washed over me. Finally, after sixty Sundays, things were getting back to normal.