How could they refuse my cupcakes?

The virus made them do it. St. Patrick’s Day 2020. Supposed to stay home. Ok. No big deal. Searching for something to eat, the box of chocolate cake mix shimmered with an emerald green aura. “Of course!” I thought. I’ll make St. Patrick’s Day cupcakes. Dark chocolate chocolate cupcakes with gorgeous green frosting.

It took me four hours to make those cupcakes. Shards of anxiety pricked my consciousness – I walked around in circles distracted, restless. Where are the damn cake pans? Better do the laundry, clean the bathroom, make the bed, organize the silverware drawer. After each chore, I returned to the cupcake project and fought my way through the mental fog which by now, felt ominous. “Don’t be silly.” I said to myself.

With artistic flourish, I topped the dark chocolate cupcakes with thick gorgeous green frosting and feeling particularly kind, delivered one of the most beautiful ones to my lonely neighbor across the street. Something to brighten her day. I knocked and she peered out from behind the door.

Offering her the cupcake on a paper plate, I chirped, “Hi Gloria, I brought you a treat!”

One gloved hand reached out from behind the door. “Just a minute.” She said. And returned with a plate. “Just put it on here.” I did, and she said, “I’d invite you in for coffee, but, you know…the virus.”

“Sure.” I nodded my head and felt a stab of disbelief and thought, wow, that was weird.

Back home, I thought, oh yea, the kids next door! I bet they’d love these cupcakes. I strolled over there and knocked. The door opened. The mom peered through the crack. “Yes?” she said.

“Hi Judy! I brought the kids a treat to celebrate St. Pat’s Day.”

“Sorry.” She said. “I’m not giving them any fresh food right now. You know …the virus.” And she closed the door.

“Sure.” I said to the closed door. “Good idea.” And I left, taking the cupcakes home. I felt rejected and disconnected. I’d done nothing wrong. Just offered cupcakes with bright green frosting to my neighbors. That evening as i pondered the rejections, I started to cry. The seed of an unfamiliar sadness had begun to germinate.

You know…the virus.