No, Mr President, I’m sorry, but some rules of engagement just shouldn’t be fiddled with.
Wasn’t Sunday evening just absolutely magic? It was like a scene from a World War II movie. The wind was howling outside. Thanks to load shedding, all the lights were off.
It was exactly like the blackouts in London designed to keep the Nazi bombers in the dark. The glow from the fire made eerie, jumping shadows on our faces as I topped up our glasses with the most exquisite Shiraz. We were all huddled around my cellphone, waiting for the news.
Then the president started speaking. The live streaming had a strange echo, so much so that we could very easily mistake the iPhone 10 for a valve radio from the forties. The president spoke about the enemy. How we will have to make sacrifices to beat it. How we will all have to work together. He reiterated the importance of a united front. He was calm, reassuring, while at the same time emphasising the gravity of the threat. Our loved ones, our friends, our very way of living is under threat, he said.
In my mind I was making a list of all the aluminium utensils we could do without to support the war effort. That was a big thing back in the day, as planes were constantly in need of repair and aluminium pots and pans were melted down to make sheet metal.
I also wondered whether any of my female family members still wore nylon stockings. I recall seeing images of women handing over their stockings to be recycled into parachutes.
Then the crackling voice on the radio announced the ban on booze. That very quickly jerked me back to 2020. Cigarettes and booze have always been part of every soldier’s outfit. No, Mr President, I’m sorry, but some rules of engagement just shouldn’t be fiddled with. I was all for your little Covid-19 war. I was prepared to make sacrifices to preserve my way of life and my liberties.
But no booze and no ciggies? I’m going AWOL. And I’m definitely keeping my pots and stockings.
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