Mask Trouble

Oh, masks.
Masks masks masks.
I bloody hate them.
Sorry!
I am not refusing to wear one, I’d just like to state, before we go any further. I wear my mask when necessary. I do.

And there is an obvious benefit that masks provide – they stop Covid breath and snot and sneezes from travelling as far as they would without them.
This is obviously vital at the moment.

But my frustration with masks has led me to create a whole list of reasons why I hate them, and so, if you will indulge me, I am just going to get it out of my system here. Then move on.

Here goes:

Masks itch my nose.

Masks prevent lip-reading. I honestly think I am going a bit deaf. I find that I stare at people’s masked faces in shops, desperately trying to hear what they are saying, and getting distracted by their eyebrows instead. On a trip to the opticians yesterday, all I could see were eyebrows! The girls in that shop – all five of them – must have had some sort of eyebrow-off going on, because above their masks, their brows did the talking. I’m not sure they were saying the right things, but hey ho.

Masks make people grumpy. A woman was vile to me in a supermarket because I made a mistake and she thought I was trying to cut her up. Yes, seriously. She remonstrated very loudly from behind her mask, and then I remonstrated back. I am old enough now that I will not allow my seniors to tell me off if they are in fact wrong. Plus, I was wearing a mask, so I was feeling feisty.

My mask is filthy. I dug it out from the fetid bottom of my bag the other day, only to realise that it was not clean. I vowed to pop it in the wash the next time I was home, and put it on anyway, hopeful that the cherub pattern would disguise the stains. (Make-up stains – nothing else.) But at least my mask is re-usable! I dread the toll on the environment that yet another disposable sanitary item poses. Those things are heinous and should be limited to hospital use only. They’re popping up everywhere! In the middle of the countryside or at the beach, there’s a mask that someone has just discarded, grubby and dusty, and nobody is going to pick it up – not even a good Samaritan, because of The invisible Covid oozing out of it.

Masks make conversation tricky. I bumped into some friends in Tesco last night – it was so lovely to see them, as it’s been a while, and we stopped and chatted (no hugs!) in the aisle. We conversed for ages – I had already placed my sunglasses atop my head as you should do when interacting with other humans – and the temptation to remove the sodding mask from my mouth was so strong! It just felt wrong, and I kept adjusting the thing, in order to speak. Why? I don’t know. Maybe I gesticulate too much with my mouth anyway, but I felt like I wasn’t conveying my meaning clearly from behind my filthy cherubs.

I am not going to go into how masks interrupt breathing. Of course they don’t, but it just feels like it sometimes. I fully appreciate that The Covid would interfere more with one’s airways and it is worth the sacrifice… but my God, I do like a free gush of air in my face more than I realised. Boy, did we take that unfettered face stage for granted!

Masks are easy to forget! And thus dangerous. I could not bear the wrath of the authorities if I was to be caught maskless in a mask-requiring situation! I have tried to remember to put my mask back in my bag after each use (hence its soiled state) but the other day, I found myself buying petrol and entering the garage sans-mask! I pulled my jumper up over my mouth, thus covering the majority of my face, and looked every inch the armed robber. The guy at the till must have been terrified! I swear it was a nervous laugh he gave. And at the vets on Friday, whilst carrying the puppy, my purse, the BBC camera and gimble and Lord knows what else, I suddenly had a mask panic. There I was rummaging in my bag, trying not to drop the baby dog, nor the expensive loaned technology, to find a face covering! My heart was beating so loudly when I realised I was not wearing a jumper that I could hoick up, I had no scarf, no socks, no garment to spare! I was about to consider unclipping my bra so as to cup it over my mouth when one of those Godforsaken disposable masks revealed itself in the depths of my bag. The relief I felt at not having to remove my underwear was huge, and I vowed not to be so rude about disposables in the future. I shall probably wear this one over and over anyway. I won’t be disposing of it any time soon!

Oh, I am grumpy about masks, I am. But I will try not to be. If masks allow us to move forward and actually go out in public, they are a good thing. If they protect people, they can’t be all bad. If (if!) we can avoid another national Lockdown by taking such precautions, that’s a huge bonus. I can live with masks.
But I think I might have to pay more attention to my eyebrows going forward, so they distract people.
Now where did I put my tweezers?