The Colorado Department of Public Health and Environment finally realized their mistake.
On December 7, in response to a US Supreme Court ruling, the CDPHE announced a new public health order allowing wedding gatherings of any size.
But the mistake wasn’t obvious when the pandemic began. In their eagerness to bring the Colorado economy to a screeching halt, some thoughtful public health bureaucrats had been meeting regularly at the local Starbucks, discussing the best ways to incite universal anxiety and depression. The springtime sun streamed in through the window.
“It goes without saying, we don’t want people dying of COVID,” said Lenny, with both hands wrapped around a Caramel Macchiato. “If people succumb to COVID, then we — the public health experts — are going to get the blame for it.”
“Agree one-hundred percent,” Bonnie concurred, taking a sip from her Peppermint Mocha Frappuccino. “The bigger the death toll, the worse we look.”
Kat scooped a spoonful of whipped cream off her Pumpkin Spice Latte, and licked the spoon thoughtfully. “We’ve got to stop the weddings,” she murmured.
Jared gave his head a little shake, set down his Vanilla Sweet Cream Cold Brew, and gave Kat with a quizzical look. “Stop the weddings? I guess I don’t see your logic.”
Kat stopped licking her spoon and leaned forward. “Weddings, Jared. Weddings. Dozens, maybe hundreds of people, of all ages, laughing, drinking champagne, dancing, making speeches. Just think about it. The bride and groom — two people who hardly even know each other, probably — are going to stand much closer than six feet, holding hands, speaking right into each other’s faces, and then they’re going to kiss. Right in front of the whole crowd. What kind of example is that, during a pandemic? Did they even use hand sanitizer?”
“And it’s probably going to be even worse, on their honeymoon,” Bonnie chimed in. “I mean, about not using hand sanitizer.”
“If there was ever a perfect COVID storm, a wedding has got to be it,” Kat asserted.
“And anyway, they’re just going to get divorced in a couple of years,” Lenny laughed.
“Well, I don’t know,” Jared responded. “We can’t completely shut down essential activities. We’ve already declared liquor stores and marijuana dispensaries to be essential. Seems to me, the ability to file joint income tax returns is also an essential activity. Or am I way off base?”
“Jared, think about what you’re suggesting,” Bonnie laughed. “Saving a few bucks on your income taxes… while you’re killing off a hundred of your best friends and family? Not exactly a sensible trade-off.”
“But its a religious ceremony,” Jared argued. “The government can’t make rules prohibiting the practice of religion. A wedding is religious.”
Everyone sipped their drinks thoughtfully.
“I bet we can stop them until at least November,” Kat said quietly.
Underrated writer Louis Cannon grew up in the vast American West, although his ex-wife, given the slightest opportunity, will deny that he ever grew up at all.