There are no parties for me today as I turn 55 years old.
I had planned an extravaganza where me and my golden gal pals would sexy dance in heels and display as much athleticism and flexibility as osteo arthritis would allow. Our hips would gyrate to the sensual rhythms of the samba, our arms would hopefully mimic the graceful limbs of swans, our batwings notwithstanding. We would delicately down frozen margaritas and girly pink daquiris and throw back our heads and laugh lustily and giggle.
But this is how life is in the time of CoViD. Will just play with my son’s dog instead.
— writing from lockdown in the Philippines.