HUMOR

COVID-19 Coaxes Canadian Health Officials to Reveal Their Kinky Side

CDC Supports using Glory Holes

I always knew Canadians were good neighbors but now they’re flashing us their kinky side.

In light of COVID-19, B.C. Centre for Disease Control let their freak flag fly when offering friendly tips for safer sex during the pandemic.

Socially distant sex seems like an oxymoron, but the B.C. CDC isn’t joking. They suggest the use of “glory holes”. If you already know what that is, add bonus points to your sexual resume, you raunchy minx! For those pearl clutchers, you may want to sit down for this. A glory hole is a round opening cut/drilled/fashioned into a wall, door, or other barricade just large enough for a penis to fit through. Essentially, without going into fifty shades of detail, a glory hole allows two people to have sexual relations in two different rooms.

Sounds freakalicious, right? Ya never know what goes on behind closed doors unless there’s a hole in it.

New York City health officials were a bit more modest, yet hinted barriers, “like a wall” could lessen the spread of the virus while people got down and dirty.

I feel like it’s my civic duty to support this erotic alternative and I can’t help suspect others are doing their part. It’s all about the safety of others. Who wants to be called selfish?

Take Mitch, for instance, our Fed Ex guy. He had a goose egg on his forehead when I saw him this morning. I asked what happened.

“I rammed my head into a brick wall while delivering a package last night.”

I smiled at him knowingly. “I bet you did, Mitch. You must’ve been holding quite a load.”

He blushed the color of my rose bush and ambled off.

I mouthed the word, “Wow!” I had no clue he had such a perversion-ality! Kudos for Mitch!

Then there’s Sarah, the avid gardener three houses down. On my daily stroll, I stopped to chat as she toiled between the zucchinis and cucumbers.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” I said.

“Not at all,” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow. “I need a break from all this hoeing.” She rubbed her lower back and winced.

“Are you alright?”

“Eh, it’s nothing. I think I bruised my tailbone. I must’ve banged it against something.”

“A wall perhaps?” I said, winking.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Huh?”

“Never mind, Sarah. I hear hoeing is tough work when you can get it. Your secret’s safe with me.” It was hard to keep the snarky grin off my face. I never pegged her for a hornified horticulturist!

I worry about my grandparents during this pandemic, so I drove over to check on them. I rang the doorbell three times before Grandma answered it. She was out of breath and her cheeks were flushed.

“Did I catch you in the middle of something?” I asked.

Grandma wiped her palms on her short flannel nightgown. “Nah, we pretty much do the same thing, all day, every day since the virus flipped our lives upside down.” She hitched her thumb over her shoulder. “He stays in his bedroom, I stay in mine.”

I blanched. “Two separate rooms?”

Grandma sighed. “The doctors say it’s safer that way. Your papaw cut out a hole in the wall between us so we can peek in on each other and share things back and forth.” She gave a satisfied nod. “It might not work for everyone, but it works for us.”

My stomach lurched. I told Grandma I couldn’t stay. I just gave her the homemade cherry pie and whipped cream and got the heck outta there. I wasn’t fast enough, because I heard her shout, “Woo-wee! Whipped cream is our favorite treat!”

I shivered. Clearly, everyone feared the virus and stayed home, but boredom and free time led to bone fever! What’s next?

I needed a drink.

Sitting on my best friend Amber’s poolside patio, I took a gulp of a margarita. “You’re not going to believe the new craze,” I said, waving a hand through the air and told her about Mitch, Sarah, Grandma and Papaw.

She shifted in her seat and rubbed out an invisible stain on the front of her shorts.

My eyes widened. I pointed an accusing finger. “Not you, too!”

She shrugged. “People don’t think anything of having a peep-hole mounted on their front door. I had something similar installed. Just lower and wider.”

I gaped. “You’ve turned your front porch into a fornication station?”

She pouted. “What’s a single girl supposed to do? I meet men on dating sites. We’re in the middle of a pandemic for Pete’s sake! I can’t very well invite strangers into my home! That would be … so unsanitary!” She wrinkled her nose. “So, I just hang a seasonal swag over the hole, and no one thinks anything of it. When I’m expecting a man, I removed the decoration and — voila! It hornificent!”

My eyes bulged.

She sighed. “It’s nothing new — been going on for centuries. I think it started with gay men, but now it’s fair game for everyone!”

I tried to imagine it. “You’d have to be pretty hetero-flexible.”

“Not really. Your grandparents probable just have oral –”

“Stop!” I plugged my ears.

When I got home, my husband was folding laundry. “Hi! Help me fold this sheet, will ya?”

“Sure,” I said.

We held it out between us.

He shook his head. “It looks pretty worn out, doesn’t it? Maybe we should donate it to a kid. Cut a hole in it, they could be a ghost.”

I must’ve still been buzzed from the margaritas. “Let’s cut a hole in it and keep it for ourselves,” I said, shimmying my shoulders.

He looked confused.

Thirty minutes later, he was whistling, “Oh, Canada!” followed by a jaunty rendition of “Old Glory”.

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