For the over 70s it’s a grave thought that we’re being targeted by the medical fraternity as being vulnerable to the scourge of Codiv-19.
It feels as if we’re on death row awaiting the needle or the noose. Fair enough, only a small percentage in this group will succumb to the bloody bug foisted on them by Eastern countries with alien eating habits. (These regions should be put in lockdown for a century until they sated on bats, evidently the carriers of the virus.)
But until a drug is found to kill the detestable foreigner, we have to live with the reality of the ever-present danger of either getting very sick or adding to funeral undertakers’ profit margins. At least they won’t have to close shop, and will continue giving their clients a dignified send-off. Coffins with a Batman decal?
There are two ways of coping with this sentence passed on those in the red zone, not the cricket one (we’re past the age of swinging the willow or charging down the wicket – in fact, bowls is bad enough). We can either sit and mope about our fate, or become philosophical, like my Italian goomba, Mario.
“Listen, Boet, we’re on our way out anyway, so let’s make the best of it by laughing at ourselves.”
To illustrate his point, he tells of a weekly lunch started 30 years ago with seven pals. They are now three, one of whom is a medico. During their recent get-together, “Just as our lunch arrived, the medic comes up with a throw-away line. ‘Do you know, chaps, one out of every three in our age group is going to die with the virus?’.” Mario chocked on his spare ribs and the other mate went into a coughing spell.
Then, says Mario, the three saw the funny side and ended up laughing out loud over their drafts. “Oh, and we weren’t drinking Coronas.” Their goodbyes were different. No more, “see you next week”, but “hope to see you around”. More laughter in the parking lot.
That surely is the way to go – whether under of over 70. I’m going to get myself a T-shirt with the words, ‘Over 70 and to hell with bats and their munchers’.
I’m reminded of an article in the Reader’s Digest years ago that proclaimed, “You’re born to die.” Coronas or not.
