Ask Rachel

Dear Rachel,

I have serious issues. I’m doing the whole social-distancing thing. I keep 6 feet away from people at all times. When I leave the house, that is. I do this anyway, it’s not a coronavirus thing. But now for some reason, when I see people I know on my weekly grocery run, I hug them. It’s like a compulsion. I can’t help it. It goes against who I am as a person, and everything we’re supposed to be doing to flatten this curve. How can I stop?

– Hugs-a-lot

Dear Squeeze Tube,

OK – coronavirus is on everybody’s mind right now, so we’ll address it here, and THEN allow for a break in our regularly scheduled programming. Dude and/or dudette, it ain’t that hard. Have you tried, you know, NOT hugging people? Just imagine them coated in hundreds of thousands of virus particles, and not only will you not hug them, you’ll never want to be intimate with another human being again. It’s pretty much how I’ve stayed celibate this long.

– Back off, Rachel

Dear Rachel,

I had to take my dog to the vet today, and they would not even let me in the building. I’ve seen curbside delivery for dry cleaning, but never for veterinary care. They didn’t care how nervous my dog might be, or how badly she needed me there with her while they took the porcupine quills out of her snout. Look, I get that this stupid coronavirus has us all taking precautions. But why couldn’t they make an exception out of compassion for a sweet animal?

– In the Dog House

Dear Pariah,

Did no one get the memo? We are NOT talking about coronavirus this week! So instead, let’s talk about overly entitled people who think they are the exception to the rules. I remember one day when it was my classmate’s birthday in the third grade. She made chocolate cupcakes. Someone in the room took two because she was “twice as big as all y’all” and “I’m the teacher, so there,” which meant that the kid in the last desk didn’t get a cupcake at all. That kid was not me, but I still have bad dreams about the look on his face.

– Liberty and justice for all, Rachel

Dear Rachel,

I never thought I’d be willing to do such dire, nasty deeds for a goddamn egg. I don’t care if the store is out of bread or milk. I’ve forgotten all about wine and whiskey. It’s the eggs that I crave. But every time I hit up the grocery store, they are completely and utterly out. I mean, there are some of the bleached white ones in styrofoam, but I won’t eat those. I need me some free-range organic browns, or at least cage-free ones in a recyclable carton. Got any eggs to spare? I’ll do you whatever you like...

– One Bad Egg

Dear Scrambled,

Enough with the coronavirus. Enough! It’s taken my eggs from me too, and is that not enough? Now it has to steal my advice column too. Let’s end this once and for all. Wash your hands. Don’t leave the house. Throw electronic money at artists. And for god’s sake, stop licking each other in exchange for eggs.

– Quarantined, Rachel