I found this container of wipes in the larder when the pandemic hit us in March. (Only three months ago. Seems like forever, but still not many days before my country embraces the “death” part of “Give me liberty or give me death.”)
I do know that I can make my own, and I do have the requisite strength alcohol, but the CDC now claims that it is hard to catch from surfaces.
So why am I holding on to it? It’s stupid, but I kind of feel like this little wipe is protecting our family in some supernatural way. (I SAID it was stupid.)
No doubt some time this month Gary will casually say, “Buy some more wipes. I used the last one.”