My hair was long enough to wind one of those little pony tail elastics around it which got it out of my face. Since the tail was so little I called it a fishtail. Still after a few days I felt like I needed to call Cindy and get it cut. When I arrived Cindy told me I had to take my mask off for her to wash and cut my hair. You won’t tell the governor on me will you, I asked and she said no. This time I would skip the coloring so when it was cut I saw what color or lack thereof my hair has become over the last several years. It is a little break for the hair. When I looked in the mirror, I said, “Who’s that?” My hair was almost all white. Cindy said the dye color was better with my skin tones because it was softer than the stark white. Well since this is a time when I won’t see most of my friends or attend any normal group activities, there is no point in coloring my hair. Cindy’s daughter was upstairs eating her dinner and she brought a cheesecake so Cindy advised me I needed to go upstairs and join them for a slice of cheesecake. Shortly after we both climbed the steps into the kitchen and got situated with Michelle already chowing down at the about 2 1/2 foot square kitchen table, a neighbor from the next street, who Cindy said is like another daughter, arrived in her snug jogging togs. Michelle showed me a cute little child’s book made of cardboard with a fish on the cover and buggly plastic eyes. She read it aloud and I laughed Cindy’s friend joined us at the table as Cindy was handing plates of cheesecake around the table. I wanted Michelle to read the book again but she took her phone and went into the front room. I slipped my hand around the things on the end of the table to get the book and read it aloud to Cindy and her friend, opening the book for them as I did so. ” I’m just a fish. I swim around all day. If I want I can be a whale with a big tail, Swish!” They were laughing and Cindy said, “You need to be in the library!!” And I said, I know, as story lady. The conversation turned to libraries and I mentioned that I usually go to the Parma-Snow (because over the years it was along the way to wherever I was usually going.) But Cindy said “…and it’s safer than the brand new Garfield one. I agreed saying there were regular burglaries at fast food and gas stations in Garfield Hts. I then told the story of how the writer, Les Roberts described Garfield Hts. in his book Collision Course as “The high end of the Low class!” I had the opportunity to point that out to him at a dinner with writing friends some years ago and he just squirmed a bit and ahemed a bit. My friend Marilyn,down the street, who lived her whole life in Garfield Hts., pointed out that it isn’t even that good anymore. Cindy’s friend said I was funny and I said it was because I am old and when you get old you get funny. Laughing she said, no you really are. She decided that the cheesecake was not as overly sweet as she thought it might be so she would have another thin wedge of it and I decided I needed to be leaving. Cindy walked me out to my car, holding firmly onto my arm so I didn’t fall. She hugged me and I headed home with a new hairdo, much laughter in my head, cheesecake and lemonade in my tummy and the hope that this one fling without social distancing and masks would not condem any of us to the wrath of covid19. We were lucky.