Sanitized

The shockingly long line for our frozen yogurt moves far enough along that we are transitioned from outside to an inside alcove. Immediately it is 15 degrees hotter, at least. I shrug off my sweater and Madi sheds her jacket. I start to feel my palms sweat, which reminds me:

“Shoot, I really would love to wash my hands pre froyo.”

“Ugh, same,” Alexandra agrees. “There’s nothing like subway fingers.”

We all cringe. But, realistically, there’s not going to be a time for us to dip into a bathroom. I’m just going to have to work really hard to not touch any strawberries.

“Maybe they’ll have hand sanitizer?” Sarah wonders out loud.

We all laugh. There’s no way they’ll have hand sanitizer.

The line snakes along. We finally get inside the shop itself. It seems to all be serve yourself, which we weren’t necessarily expecting. I’d usually be thrilled with the prospect, but with dirty hands…

The huge group in front of us finally moves along enough that we’re next to receive our bowls. And there, in all its glory… is an enormous hand sanitizer.

“No way!” I say.

“No way!” Madi says.

“Wow.” Says Sarah.

I had a really good day. And getting hand sanitized was one of the highlights.