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DEET. I'll Take The Extra Large, Please

Took in the backwoods trails of the north Connecticut coast. Not only was it beautiful, but no one wore a surgical mask as thought they'd taken a wrong turn from the E.R.

The last time I sprayed myself with a dose of insecticide for an outdoor hike, I was a 2nd Class Boy Scout at Summer camp in Pine Hill, New Jersey. In 1969. The technology behind aerosol sprays to keep mosquitos OFF worked simply because the gunk smelled and felt so bad to the touch that not even the little needle-nosed gnats would come near.

Decades later, the technology has improved to the point that REI carries a brand which keeps you safe from everything except, sadly, Hysterical Leftists.

It shoos away Zika, Denge, and Malaria. In combination with an array of injections and pills will also kill anything, again, except for your average Apocalyptic Liberal.

Today, Day 31 for those of you playing along at home, Lee and I decided to forego the long walks through our Connecticut enclave and take in a nature hike. I did one of these treks last week and, as some know, ended up with a tick dug in on the back of my neck. My wife had just returned from a Safari trip in Tanzania, literally a week before the Time of the Stupids commenced, and carried with her the remnants of spray insecticides strong enough for anything, ahem, save for your average Apoplectic Progressive, as mentioned previous . . . twice.

The trail, a two or three mile hike over rock-strewn trails and muddy eddies, wound its way through the backyards of several monied Nutmeg Staters. It also circumvented two interior lakes, known as Ponds here in Connecticut. Along the one hour schlep, we passed several other hikers. Hallelujah! Not one of them donned the Frito Bandito garb! I wore mine around my neck, but more for protection against chiggers than anything.

We completed the hike. I whipped off the cloth triangle, and shoved it into my Hope Chest, which contained "I'm With Her" bumper stickers, and the Soviet style icons of the Cool, Hip, Half-White Dude.

In other words, I'm HOPEful, the mask will be relegated to the trash heap of history, like the Hillary and Barack keepsakes.

This piece of PPE, earned a barrage from well-meaning, but annoying friends who excoriated me for not wearing a mask 24/7 The screeching of which reached a crescendo over the weekend.

One "friend" told me to wear a "F&%King Mask." Nice. That'll bring me over to your way of thinking, if it could be called that.

Because I have read enough about the annoying face-guards to realize adding it to your sartorial splendor is at best contagion-neutral.

It's a badge of honor, akin to an "Equality" pin on your LaCoste shirt, or a rainbow flag pasted to your front window. All of these necessary for your average Democrat to earn their Virtue Signaling stripes.

The month of May looks like The Time of the Grand Re-Opening. Let's hope so. Brace yourself for a torrent of apoplexy immediately after the first CV19 death that MIGHT be attributed to a business that made a decision to service customers as though they were human beings, and not indoctrinated cyborgs.

Set your watch by it.

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