Prior to COVID-19, my life was chaotic.
I now find myself with extra time to prioritize the forgotten parts of my life. Like shaving my legs, getting to know my kids (not just keeping them alive) and, most recently, addressing my surplus of fan mail.
Oh yes, I have fans. And they’ve had questions. It’s finally time to bring them the treasure they’ve been patiently awaiting (hint: it’s me; I am the treasure). So, I poured myself a cup of tea, slipped into my custom-made hazmat suit, and sat back to read, at arm’s length, their hand-written words of adoration. Before incinerating the works of them.
Q: Dear Heather, based on your writing style, I can tell you are a science-savvy woman who thrives on technological advancement. I’ve been losing sleep in my wonderment: what do you consider to be the greatest invention? Live long and prosper, Bob.
A: Sweet Bob, you can’t see me because I’m in my underground shelter, but, I assure you, my face shield is steaming from my tears. I am humbled by your words. It is an honour that you consider me a fellow science expert. Not to brag but, in 2003, I knew how to draw the Krebb’s cycle by heart for three whole weeks.
My personal favorite invention? It’s a toss-up. Intuitively, I want to say “electricity” but my heart knows the truth. You're probably thinking it too, so let's say it together… 3-2-1- the Smart Phone filter that allows me to look like a flawless, child rabbit. I intermittently use it as my profile picture without addressing the fact that I am neither, ya know, a child nor a rabbit. I feel one's "greatest invention" should be that which allows one to join the psychic flow of one's era. For me, that's the dewy, iridescent, child-rabbit filter.
Q: Dear Heather, I know I have no basis for knowing this from your written word (which I read religiously), but I have a feeling you are quite the television aficionado. I’m dying to know: what is your favourite show right now and why? Yours, Barb.
A: Hello Barb. You are indeed correct in your assumption. I have put quite the mileage on this recliner these past few weeks - these red sweatpants too - in a Mini-Egg-fuelled Netflix bender I’m not at all ashamed of.
The televised soundtrack of self-isolation (so far) has been Stranger Things, which I’ve devoured in a concerningly short period of time. It made me realize that I NEED a little sci-fi/fantasy show like this in my life to remind me that - although social distancing is tough - I'd rather over-wash my hands and stare at my husband playing Zelda any day than live in a world with demogorgons.
Q: Dear Heather, based on that tiny, clearly filtered photo accompanying your column, I can tell you have the complexion of a child. Speaking of which, what is your fondest childhood memory? Your comrade in collagen conservation, Carl.
A: Dear Carl, I can envision the taut resilience of your creaseless forehead… and it’s breathtaking.
The childhood recollection that gives me the coziest of heart palpitations is the time Mom thought the best way to offset my "middle-aged, dame-of-the-80's” haircut was to allow me to strut into sixth grade wearing a brand new, brown, faux-suede jacket with animal print and gold stitching. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen and I was so pumped mom bought it for me. In hindsight (the hair, the jacket…), I was Little Richard's stunt double.
Q: Dear Heather, I can’t help but wonder - given your unflinching wit and charm - how you fuel that temple of yours. What is your favourite food? Always hungry, Al.
A: Oh Al, I suffer from the same affliction, I’m afraid. I don’t prefer any one particular dish. Rather, I gravitate toward “Bert and Ernie” ingredients; those delectable morsels that are simply better together. Like avocado and bacon. Blue cheese and pears. Chocolate and peanut butter. Old cheddar and mom’s partridgeberry jam.
Runner-up answer: potato chips.
Q: Dear Heather, I can’t imagine someone who has it all figured out, like you, has ever made mistakes. But I’ve gotta ask: any regrets? Rita.
A: Dear Rita, while I am, indeed, 17 per cent perfect, I do have one, nagging regret: not keeping that brown and gold, faux-suede jacket.
Q: Dear Heather, maybe it’s an assumption, but are you really as brave and fearless as you seem? Sven.
A: Dearest Sven, you are perceptive, my friend. But, alas, even legends have fears. While I still consider myself wildly courageous despite my loss of bowel control at the thought of wild animals or public speaking, there are certain fears that make me shrivel up like a slug in salt. Besides “living an inauthentic life” or “getting trapped in a small space,” my greatest fear is the possibility that I actually look like that Jabba-the-Hutt type character I see looking back at me when I accidentally flip the camera to selfie mode.
Note: Hey kids, every time you pour salt on slugs, a tiny, slug ghost haunts your bedroom. Be nice to animals.
Q: Dear Heather, who would play you in a movie about your life (which, side note, would obviously be an Oscar contender)? Je t’aime, Lucien.
A: Dear Lucien, bon question. It’s something I have thought about often while avoiding purposeful, real-life, adult obligations. I fluctuate between Jon Lovitz, with his consistent knack for making you feel inexplicably uncomfortable, and Joseph Gordon Levitt, with his dapper confusion and cheek-pinching aura of insecurity.
Q: Dear Heather, while the best part of isolation has surely been the increased frequency of your beloved column, I would love to know: what’s the first thing you'll do when isolation is over? So alone, Cathy.
A: Dear Cathy, I can envision that first day of freedom quite clearly. I will immediately reignite the internal battle between my deep-seated love of sweatpants and avoiding small-talk, and my nagging FOMO (“fear of missing out”, in case mom is reading this).
Q: Dear Heather, it sounds like you and your husband are doing marriage right. Please tell me you guys have adorable nicknames for each other. Love, Marge.
A: Dear Marge, we do indeed. I call him whichever name flies out of my mouth first (I live with three males, it’s usually some butchered combination of their names). And he calls me “Stinky.”
Q: Dear Heather. You're writing your own fan mail again, aren't you? Saltwire.
A: Dear Saltwire… Yes.
Dear readers (fans or not), I hope this column can bring you some small joy in these crazy times. Be safe and love your family.
Heather Huybregts is a mother, physiotherapist, blogger, YouTuber and puffin whisperer from Corner Brook, N.L.
