First, let us define phobic; it’s “having or involving an extreme or irrational fear of or aversion to something.” I think the word that bothers me most about that definition is “irrational.” If I were irrational, I probably would not have been sitting outside Eighth and Rail enjoying a cold beverage. As a 70-year-old, obese person with a heart condition, I prefer to think of it as cautious. I was one of the first to return to socially distant restaurant setups; I did avoid going into places without a mask and have worn a mask in most cases, yes, even before Me Maw decreed it several days ago.
I’ll continue to venture out around town, but with caution and not fear. Is it an irrational fear? I don’t think so. I prefer to think of my take on all this as cautious. This issue has become political and resorted to name-calling. Don’t call me phobic, and I won’t resort to several names I could use for you. We may not agree on some items, but we can remain respectful at least.