Call it karma or science (it's science), but over the weekend news broke that nine people, both students and staff, had tested positive for the coronavirus at North Paulding High School. This is the Georgia school made notorious last week by a photo of a hallway swarming with shoulder-to-shoulder unmasked students.

It's where the girl who posted that photo online was initially suspended for her whistleblowing, and where the superintendent claimed, "wearing a mask is a personal choice and there is no practical way to enforce a mandate to wear them."

It is also the place where irony died, because the school had proved it did have at least one tool — suspension — for dealing with students it believed were in the wrong.

Now North Paulding has temporarily closed.

But for when they return to the classroom, here are some additional notes for school systems and other ruling bodies on how to enforce mandates:

Punish mask noncompliance the way many schools have for decades wrongly punished teenage girls for spaghetti straps, shorter skirts and scooped necklines (all prohibited in North Paulding's dress code), yanking those girls out of class for "distracting" their fellow classmates with scandalous body parts like knee caps.

You know what is truly a distraction? Being yanked out of class while you're just trying to learn trigonometry. Hearing that your male classmates' learning experience is your responsibility. Fearing that a visible bra strap, or the "personal choice" of your clothing will get you called a slut.

But I digress. North Paulding's handbook also says the administration "reserves the right to alter the dress code for special occasions," and as this pandemic is pretty special, I would advise school districts to picture a face without a mask as if it's a girl without sleeves, and proceed accordingly. The presence of a deadly virus in the halls of a school is a better reason to enforce a dress code than the presence of bare shoulders.

For government officials: Legislate the "personal choice" of mask noncompliance the way you have for decades tried to legislate women over their own deeply personal decisions.

After refusing to wear a mask or to instruct his staff to work remotely, Rep. Louie Gohmert, R-Texas, tested positive for the coronavirus. He then tweeted that he would be taking hydroxychloroquine, despite top infectious-disease specialists, including Anthony Fauci, noting that the anti-malarial drug has not been proved an effective treatment. "It is what was decided as the best course of action between my doctor and me — not by government bureaucrats," Gohmert wrote.

Was he plagiarizing Busy Philipps? Because last year at a hearing on abortion, the actor and activist told Gohmert, "I don't believe that a politician's place is to decide what's best for a woman. It's a choice between a woman and her doctor."

Gohmert, who is antiabortion, was not persuaded then. He has repeatedly shown he feels it is exactly his business, as a government bureaucrat, to regulate individuals' conversations with their doctors. At a House hearing he once said women should carry a brain-dead fetus to term.

In a funhouse-mirror situation, the de facto slogan of the anti-mask crowd has become, "My body, my choice," the chant originally created by women in the abortion rights movement. In that context, the goal was to argue that a woman's decisions about her health, her family, her morals and her soul were up to her, possibly in consultation with her doctor, her partner or her pastor.

You might believe that abortion is murder, but you cannot say that it is contagious and airborne, something you can catch or transmit unknowingly to others. You cannot argue that, upon choosing to have an abortion, a pregnant person walks into a grocery store and infects 50 other innocent shoppers with abortion. As clever and self-righteous as anti-maskers may believe themselves to be, public health concerns are completely different from individual medical procedures.

We could have been done with this pandemic. We still could be done with this pandemic, pretty much whenever "we" want to. Like many other nations in the world, we could spend several weeks hunkering down, truly loving our neighbors as ourselves, with the government financial support necessary to make that hunkering possible.

But unfortunately — for all of us — it turns out that ending the pandemic is not an individual choice.

Monica Hesse is a columnist for The Washington Post's Style section, who frequently writes about gender and its impact on society.