Whew, MJE and the OB&C are slowly creeping toward the end of our fortnight of forced coronatine and man it is getting to be touch and go. Distance undoubtably makes the heart grow fonder but being stuck together 24/7 is making both of us flatline. In half a century of wedded bliss we’ve certainly had rough patches but this is a goddam sinkhole.
But whatcha gonna do? We try to be good citizens and play by the rules, although the OB&C did commit a major violation several days ago and ventured forth for more wine, but we all understand that, right? Alcohol and drugs, legally prescribed of course, are essential to our mental health and wellbeing, at least mine. One of the only upsides to hurricane katrina was being able to go into a pharmacy and just say I need some xanax and they’d hand them right over, no questions asked. Never thought I’d look back on that experience fondly, but I was wrong.
As mentioned earlier, MJE has been doing zumba classes at home. Well I did two. But now I feel like I’ve been run over by a train, a couple of times. My muscles are so used to disuse that they are incredibly pissed off. I hurt in places I didn’t know I even had. I was going to go for three but I opted for a couple of glasses of rose instead and feel so much better. Not only does it dull the pain but it also dulls whatever resolve I might have had to keep exercising. A twofer.
The OB&C has also decided to get “back in shape” to wit he did ten sit ups yesterday and is now hunched over like cro magnon man, unable to stand erect. Whenever he gets some hair brained idea about working out he hits it like he’s an olympic athlete. He goes to the gym and piles on the weights, does push ups, leg lifts, and his favorite, the plank. He doesn’t get that if his stomach is dragging on the ground it doesn’t count. However, he returns preening like a peacock asking me to punch him in the stomach and feel his biceps. He slaps his belly and declares that it is all muscle. Well if that’s all muscle then I have an ass like jennifer lopez.
Thank god he has his seven year old samsung cell phone. He’s on it like a teenage girl, constantly texting his geezer friends who also obviously have nothing better to do. What is it with these middle aged men, well middle aged if we live to be 140 years old, they seem to have an endless supply of incredibly lame jokes and stupid videos. I dread when he says, hey look at this, because I know it’ll be some redneck jumping into a frozen swimming pool or lighting himself on fire or blowing up a bunch of stuff. Or provoking some wild animal and then running for his life. Sheesh, let the bear eat him and put me out of my misery.
We used to have a book called the darwin awards about people who did such incredibly stupid stuff that they killed themselves in the process, therefore eliminating their genes from the gene pool. It was hilarious in a sick morbid sort of way. Now we can’t trust anyone to be smart enough not to eat a bag of peanuts if they have a peanut allergy. There has to be a warning label on the package in case they didn’t realize there were nuts in there. Or the fad with teenagers eating detergent pods. The manufacturer had to plaster social media with a statement that it is “deeply concerned about intentional and improper use of liquid laundry pacs” and print a warning on the boxes “do not eat!” Wash your laundry stupid.
Good news is we are washing our hands 14 times a day. Bad news is now we can only afford to bathe every other week.
my jaundiced eye 