The Luv Doc: The Same Soft Consonants

Dear Luv Doc,

Exchanged niceties with a smokin' hot thirtysomething woman at the Oltorf H-E-B on Thursday morning. We were both reaching for the same shopping cart and she insisted I take mine first. I roamed the aisles trying to decide if I should ask her for her number or to coffee or something, but then I ran into her in the frozen foods and saw that her shopping cart was loaded down with packages of toilet paper, cans of beans, and lots and lots of cat food. Now, I don't have anything against cats or canned foods in general, but the volume was staggering for one small woman. It totally blew my vibe and made me wonder if her house was some sort of hoarder situation. Am I overreacting, and should I hang around there until she shows up and ask her out?

– Feeling Weird

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As I'm sure you're already well aware, the situation on the ground is fluid. When you submitted this missive you were probably able to enter your local H-E-B at your whim. That was the mild dystopia in which we used to live. Last week, you could sidle up to the Golden Corral buffet line and leave buttery handprints on the sneeze guard, but this week you can't even get in the door. It's probably just as well. It's no coronavirus, but Type 2 diabetes is the seventh-leading cause of death in the U.S. That factoid should at least be sobering enough to close a few Dunkin' Donuts and Cinnabons, but no. Why? Because FREEDOM.

If you get a little testy when the government starts trying to control you – especially if you think the government is just a bunch of dumbasses – consider this: Viruses aren't even single-celled organisms. They aren't even technically considered to be living beings. They're just protein shells looking to hitch a ride on fat juicy cells. Viruses are just a bunch of tiny goddamn freeloading chemical zombies, and whether you like it or not, once they hitch a ride on you they are pretty much calling the shots, as anyone who has experienced a particularly wicked case of norovirus will tell you. You think you're leaving the house, tough guy? You're not even leaving this bed unless it's to drag yourself to the commode and shit your guts out.

Now, I understand the novel coronavirus doesn't bear much resemblance to a norovirus, but they share a lot of the same soft consonants and vowels and it's easy to see why someone in the grips of paranoia might confuse the two and pile up her shopping cart with mountains of TP. However, that confusion scenario doesn't really address the crazy amount of toilet paper hoarding that has marked the last few weeks.

As crazy as it sounds, I think on some fundamental, subconscious level, people feel their ability to wipe their own asses is what separates them from other mammals. However ridiculously misguided that feeling may be, it gives them a soothing sense of control in a world that occasionally turns upside down and sideways. Hoarding toilet paper is just someone's inner child screaming, "I am not a goddamn animal! I am the captain of my ship!" Recent events tell us that is a crock of shit, but there's no need to feel all superior about our acute sense of self-awareness. I doubt our programming is much more advanced than a common virus. So anyway, cut that beautiful lady some slack and ask her out. Just know that these days, if you're loitering around H-E-Bs, you're probably asking for trouble.