Quarantina dragged her sewing machine up from the basement to sew some face masks. She wiped the dust from its casing and got to work. The machine, having other ideas, jammed, forcing Quarantina to sew by hand. When she looked in the mirror, a beauty she was not. As she donned each of the seven masks, she recognized its unique properties.
Droopy – One side is tight and one is loose. By unhinging your jaw slightly on the right, everything will balance out. And everyone will cross the street to get away from you, Igor.
Smelly – Made from your mother’s old handkerchiefs. The overpowering scent of her long-lost perfume lets you know that you haven’t lost your sense of smell. As much as you might want to right now.
Tighty – Like a bargain face lift, this mask will stretch your mouth into a Joker-like grin and pull up any loose skin. The sheer relief of removing it and letting your skin cascade like a waterfall will be your consolation for getting your jowls back.
Painy – Those stretchy bands really bend the ears back when they don’t fit, huh? Who knew you had such a network of veins back there. It’s like a kaleidoscope.
Itchy – Maybe making masks out of my failed kaftan attempt – a cotton with a metallic thread – was not the best idea when the silver filaments find their way into your nostrils and you have to throw your head around like a drugged trotter at the Meadowlands.
Stringy – What, I should measure the ties? You don’t need to close them with a bow, a knot will do just fine. And when it works its way into your hair, just cut it out. You flirted with the idea of shaving your head anyway. Think of the likes on social media.
Chokey – The tighter the weave, the better the protection. So, this one’s fabric has zero breathability. None. Nada. As you crawl back up the steps and try and reach the doorknob, you will promise not to leave again if you can only get this mask off your face. Staying inside is your best defense.