My cranky fifteen year old son says, “Mom, I don’t think you’re funny.” I say, “Charles, I think you’re funny. Looking.”
Charles marches off. His father says, “Charles, can I have a hug?” Charles says,”NO.” Then, he goes to his room to play video games that involve, I don’t know, shooting enemies with assault rifles or maybe creating a 3D world that I imagine he’s named Hell.
I say, “Charles all of our bowls are in your bedroom. Please bring them down.” Charles says, “I’m busy!”
Busy. Yeah, right.
I go out to the deck where I see a creepy weirdly colored catterpillar that I’ve never seen before. It wants to meet me. A lot. My friend calls it the Murderous Catterpillar of 2020.
I look up from the Murderous Catterpillar to see my best friend. He just came into the house. I’m like, “Did you miss the memo?”
My husband is livid. If he was a gun owner he probably would have pulled it out.
I tell my friend he has to leave. I walk into the den where my husband is playing his synthesizer. I have a soundtrack to this pandemic that sounds like electronic outer space.
It’s my day to go to Kroger. A very exciting event. I take the twenty minute scenic route instead of the direct seven minute route. I ask the customer service clerk what aisle toothpaste is on. He says, “One hundred and fifty three.” I cross toothpaste off the list because there’s potentially a lot of virus between where I am, and aisle one hundred and fifty three.
I leave the Unnecessarily Large Kroger and take the scenic route home. I’m driving behind a big-ass army truck with a Don’t Tread flag.Its got a big pipe on the roof with black smoke pouring out. It’s very weird.
Next, I have the seventeen year come back of cicadas to look forward to.
Be well. Peace