Living behind a mask by Frances Roberts

It's a whole new world living behind a mask. To make mine more interesting I cut out a template, copied off Google, and, digging through my large collections of fabric scraps, cut out four. I sewed them and attached the elastic. One pink mask, one green, one blue, and one yellow. I wash them after each time they come off my face.

I quite like the mystery of masks. It's no longer, “How are you?” when you see a pair of half familiar looking eyes, but “Who are you?” I'm sad to say the eyes do not always have it, and the hair may have changed its color, shape, or length.

There's also the risk of giving offense to a dear friend as you sail past him or her in the shopping mall. But there are more upsides than you can poke a stick at. Just think about it. No more colds and flu, after queuing at the hypermarket on a patch marked STAND HERE, no germs flying up your nose as you jostle your trolley through the narrow aisles at Checkers in search of a two-for-the-price-of-one bargain. The coughing, the sneezing and guttural clearing of throats are no more a threat to your health: the dreaded virus has no chance of sailing up your nostrils and creeping its way down into your lungs. Your mask is a brave soldier, guarding your fragile immune system from all attacks. You can safely hum Amazing Grace as you wander along the avenues in the Botanic Gardens, inhaling the sweet scent of jasmine near the sunken garden or rosemary or lavender as you wander past the herb garden, touching their leaves briefly and holding them close to your face.

Life with a mask has its humorous moments. I sometimes find myself halfway to the shops without a mask, having forgotten to put the spare back in the cubbyhole after washing it. Worse still I arrive at a shop’s entrance blissfully unaware of my naked face. I’m brought up short by the sanitizer-wielding guard who refuses to allow me in to buy a mask. How reassuring to then enter a nearby coffee shop, ask if they would sell me one, only to be given a clean mask from a pack by a gracious waitron.

How easy it is to avoid your grouchy Uncle Percy when you catch sight of the wispy fringe around his bald pate. What fun to just sit and sip your freshly brewed mocha java at the Mug and Bean and contemplate the lives of the customers as they wander in, sanitize, sit themselves down, study the menu, and place their orders. When you finally reach the shelf where milk is stored no one no one can hear your muttered curses as you find that the dairy section has reached its looting zenith. And you must try another shop or shopping center, or go home and do without it.