The queues of the past

I have returned from more than thirty days of quarantine, because Gino has been in contact with Pino and perhaps Rino has talked to Gaetano. It goes like this, it's a moment and you enter a world made of feelings of guilt, homemade tampons, homemade pizza, homework and school done at home, housework, average brother who sclera with sister, sister who sclera with little brother, and you who realize that you are not omnipotent.

Your story is intertwined remotely with the stories of friends who are doing more or less like you or much worse. Everyone knows that parenting is the hardest job on earth, but not everyone knows that when you know it is too late. The process is irreversible. Let's talk about extreme intergalactic resilience. But then you finally take a break from the trade and find yourself at minus 10 degrees in the queue for your "official" 48th tampon - because what you just slipped in front of the mirror isn't enough, while your four-year-old cries because he wants to. put it on him! "Please, I beg you": the creature screams - you are out of the house and you are almost happy not to feel your legs anymore ... in front of you 40 people hibernating and resigned, waiting to be drilled. There are no longer those beautiful queues of the past (I think) ... where the indignant lady and the pensioner raise their tones exponentially, trying to stir up the queue against "the system", no strange things happen here, the queue freezes in silence , but there are also those who smile, make friends and make fun of them, and as always I remember my grandfather's phrases: "When it rains, bring an umbrella, if you forget it don't get angry, take the opportunity to give yourself a rinse".


Andrea Gotico
NP February 2022