Peace Out, Corona!

*For the sake of this article, we’re going to pretend we’re living in a perfect world.*

So without further ado:

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Quarantine will conclude on a Friday.

Therefore, inhabitants of this Earth will party like it’s 1999 on Saturday. I’ve taken the liberty of embedding the 1982 Prince classic, 1999, in this article to set the mood (so to speak) so please, indulge in a swift snippet before reading any further!

Now, behold this inhabitant’s Saturday schedule:

8:00 a.m.

Alarm goes off. It’s been so long since I’ve had to use one that I almost forget how to set the darn thing.. I’m hopeful in my belief that since it’s been a minute, my alarm will go off and I’ll welcome it’s return like it's the first snowfall of the season- gracefully and with arms wide open.

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. Ugh, even typing the words gives me chills. Needless to say, grace is out the window and my phone is abruptly silenced by the third beep. But, a little wishful thinking never hurt anybody.

8:30 a.m.

Neither did a second alarm. It goes off and roars even louder than the first one (if that’s even possible). My semi conscious body rolls over and the alarm is silenced once more.

8:40 a.m.

Don’t laugh, but off goes the third and FINAL alarm. Fun fact: Sometimes I have even more alarms, but three is usually the minimum requirement for a girl whose quintessential day begins at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. Alas, I am finally fully conscious as I roll my tired butt off my very plush mattress.

8:50 a.m.

I stumble to the bathroom and begin my morning routine: brush teeth, shower, towel dry hair (fortunately, mine doesn't dry into a frizzy lion's mane), paint my face (that means put on makeup, fellas), straighten bangs...

Then comes the time consuming part: deciding what to wear. Despite the thousands of dollars inhabiting my closet, I can never find anything suitable to wear! Spoken like a true girl, I know. It's a battle that I have a tough time winning.

Any who, and again this is a perfect world, so with my plan for the day in mind and weather at 71 degrees and sunny with a light breeze... I settle on faded light blue jean shorts with a black v neck blouse, white quarter sleeved blazer and cheetah four inch heels. Hair pulled back in a low pony, strike one last pose in the mirror and I'm ready to go!

10:00 a.m.

Jamming to the song Fake ID by Big & Rich, (I invite you to give it a listen sometime- it'll get you pumped) my little sister and I head to the River Market! The River Market is a historical area in Kansas City, MO that is host to the region's largest Farmer's Market and numero uno on the list of places I'm itching to go post quarantine. For anyone who's never been to a Farmer's Market, I strongly encourage you to get the experience because there is something for everyone to enjoy- like I hate fruits and vegetables, a crucial piece to any good Farmer's Market, yet I'm a regular regular at my local FM (Farmer's Market)!

The moment I cross the threshold and am inside the river market is the moment when all the stresses of this world are washed away from my brittle body.

Smell is the first of my senses to be sequestered: fresh blooms are among the unmistaken fragrance of already blossomed tulips, sunflowers and daisies... these are what I smell first. The aroma of succulent strawberries, raspberries and every other berry follows suit and just as I'm beginning to die of olfactory overload, my mouth begins to water from the savory scent of mediterranean spices housed just five feet from where I stand.

Personally, I could spend all my time with the spices (and low key I actually have). It's not only the aroma that is oh so appealing, but being the simple girl that I am- grabbing that scoop, eroding the mini Sahara dessert before me and pouring the spice like an unsuspecting sand storm is so mesmerizing that I just never want to stop.

11:00 a.m.

Lunch time! What am I in the mood for? Mexican, Indian, American, BBQ... I can have all four if I so desire because all of them and more are offered at the River Market. :)

Here's a tip to follow anytime you're waltzing through to find food at the KC FM: As you're deciding on which cafe to drop into, you're decision is likely to be influenced by the delectable aroma of ribs, turkey legs and chicken sizzling on the elongated open grill just a couple yards beside you. The grease'll actually be popping so much that as you glide behind the greasy grill masters, a stain or two might corrupt the silky blouse or cotton blend that caresses your upper half. It's happened to me before and I don't want it to happen to you. I never did get that rotten stain out...

I decide to have (for my early lunch) a traditional Indian dish with lots of pita and enough spice to make Gordon Ramsay cry. Following my lunch, I head over to get a Boba Tea where the line is always out the flippin door.

I stand in this line thinking last week I would have had to stand on a little piece of bright green tape that was six feet away from another piece of bright green tape and so on and so forth; keeping my mouth awkwardly shut prohibiting any casual conversation with friend or stranger; or God forbid sneezing without a mask on just waiting for disgusted looks and deer-in- headlight eyes to shame me back to where I came from.

This week, however, I stand in line inches away from the person in front of me because it's crowded and there's no more corona. I talk at normal decimal level to my sister without a mask on because it's awkward to stand in silence and there's no more corona. I put in my Boba order to the cashier who kindly accepts my cash with her latex free hands because I can't get the drink for free and there's no more corona. I let out an embarrassingly loud sneeze (that I covered with my elbow, of course- I'm not a barbarian) because dust got in my nose and did I mention also because there's no more corona??

How thankful I will be to once again be in an environment where normal life is resumed, social and distancing are reverted to unparalleled words that exist in the English language and everyone of all ages can congregate in public without the need to fear for their lives.

12:00 p.m. - 4:30 p.m.

Explore the wonders of the Market with my sister. Purchase a decorative, one-of-a-kind blue and yellow bird feeder for my aunt; go crazy buying works of art for my grandma from the gregarious hippy vendor who is an absolute joy to talk to; splurge on some delightful homemade and healthy cookies for myself from the adorable pre teen farm boy who is far too shy to be running a booth. *All of which was done in cash, but thank God for the ATM on every corner.*

I'll relish in the newfound tan that the sun has bestowed on me in the form of sweaty glands and a shimmering face (wherein most of my make up has been wiped away) as I watch the exhausted vendors pack up after a very busy Saturday. I'll catch the obtuse vendor who was selling water bottles and ask for just one more real quick, and as I'm pulling out the cash to pay, he'll give it to me for free because he'll see I'm in desperate need and take pity. Bless his heart.

6:00 p.m.

For dinner, I'll wander over to the Westport district just 20 minutes away for the most delectable Mediterranean cuisine in all of Kansas City: the Jerusalem Cafe.

I will be seated in a burgundy booth, paired with an appropriate burgundy table cloth and be given a menu with just enough options that I'm not overwhelmed.

I will enjoy the historical images that surround me while I enjoy my feast of feasts: curry chicken in lemon zest broth. The chicken will fall apart in my mouth, the potatoes will melt at first bite and the rice will be ate in abundant fork-fulls at a steadfast pace. Not a piece of pita will remain as I would marry pita as I could.

I will take the napkin from my lap and place it to my mouth to signal a most wonderful meal and thank the Jerusalem Cafe in entirety. Maybe upon leaving I'll enjoy the hookah lounge upstairs... who's to know.

7:30 p.m.

Get home and get showered because I will have sweated ten pounds from my day in the sun- disgusting, but true. Throw the day's clothes in the laundry, but will leave it to tomorrow because ain't nobody got time for laundry the first day post quarantine. I'll do my face up again, only slightly more fancy this time around because it's first night post quarantine- anyone wanna guess how I'm spending it?

9:00 p.m.

That's right! Out on the town! In a perfect world, we'd call up an Uber and head to the greatest, most wonderful bar in all of Kansas City: Kanza Hall. Kanza is a country bar, formally known for two stepping and line dancing, but has since closed down permanently thanks to the damn virus, but in a perfect world: we'd pay our five dollar cover, head inside to the football length bar with our cowboy boots on, I'd order myself a Sex on the Beach cocktail, crowd around the dance floor until the next line dance plays over the speakers, lead the crowd in whatever line dance (preferably Copperhead Road), laugh and dance with my friends, maybe have a tequila shot or two sprinkled in...

1:30 a.m.

Closing time. We will hitch an Uber back home, head inside and proclaim it a most amazing night, but before putting our heads on pillows and patiently awaiting the hangover that is bound to hit the next day, we do one last and final thing: head to the fridge, pull out a couple of cold ones and celebrate with a toasting of (wait for it) Coronas to the END OF CORONA!

And maybe throw a lime in mine to add a little zest!;)