Quarantina

So I’m married to an introvert who was created for this mess. Handcrafted, Lonerville loving, all by myself (like the song) man: he has been given a new lease on life. I, on the other hand: DYING. I’m an extrovert who NEEDS PEOPLE to give me energy to live. Lonely…I’m so lonely…I mean not really because four other jokers and a dog and a couple of fish (because the other 2 died of corona virus) are with me but I’m bored. Let me tell you a story.

‘Tina made me do it.

That’s the thought that rolls through my head no less than 19 times a day. Any one else been finding yourself doing shocking things that you wouldn’t normally do? If you said no, you’re lying. It’s ok. This is a safe space and I’m going to go first and tell you all (well not all, because I still want friends and my kids to claim me one day -even after their inevitable extensive therapy) the shocking things I’ve been doing.

The top of my refrigerator is now spic and span. You could eat off the top of it. (Not that you would, but, hey, we’re in a pandemic. You may.) My sweet (not anymore ’cause shelter in place, y’all) husband was preparing dinner the other night and he was using our pepper grinder that had lost the adjustable screw top off of it months ago. Said hubby was adamant that it was under the fridge but we just didn’t have the time to look there. Before now. Well, well. I pushed that fridge out with a little coaxing from him and promptly dry heaved. THE DUST. I’m here to tell you, the backside of your fridge is nasty and it hides lots of sins beneath it, too. JUST NASTY. Don’t google dust composition. And don’t push your fridge out unless you are prepared with a gag bag and a Dyson. We’re pretty clean people, seriously. I was offended. I cleaned all that nonsense up and that led me to the top of the fridge, where I found a few old pictures, a coupon to Ruby Tuesday, and a brand new orange crayon that was surely nabbed from a toddler once as punishment. Wish I could remember that one…anyhow, the fridge is spotless now. At least the top part. I’ll save the rest for another day, ’cause we’ve got time. (But I did find the screw top to that pepper grinder.)

‘Tina made me do it.

I looked under one of my kid’s beds in pursuit of a missing sock. While I didn’t find the sock– at least that sock’s match–I found lots of other items that have been missing since before she was out of diapers. Jewelry, hangers, hair thingys, tags off of new clothes… I’ve failed as a parent because obvi this child thinks that “under the bed” is the same as “trashcan.” I also discovered where all my candy stash had disappeared. I think that this may indicate a problem. With her — not me, of course. BUT why??? (Adding this to list of the things that will need to be discussed with the therapist.) Why did I even get down on my knees to look for the match to a pair of two dollar socks?

‘Tina made me do it.

My youngest fella whom I told you before was starting to make a run for Cousin It’s doppelganger was in a bad way. Bad way. Little homie needed a trim in the worst kind of way. We participate in social distancing over here because we are rule followers mostly and so an appointment with someone certified in scissors just wasn’t feasible for the foreseeable future–at least what he could see through the fence of hair that protected his baby blue eyeballs. So, I did what most good moms would do and I googled “haircuts for boys,” and wouldn’t you know I used that tutorial on my little offspring. And wouldn’t you also know that I’m not going for any hairstylist’s job after this is over because a bald blind man with a broken mirror wouldn’t hire me. But the boy can see now…maybe through jagged pieces of hair…but he’s at least got something to work with.

‘Tina made me do it.

I may or may not have googled “local divorce attorney” a few times, ’cause ‘Tina is a homewrecker. She’s our irreconcilable difference. She’s constantly around, and my husband is spending money on her like she’s some young, fun thing. Not to worry, U.S. economy…we’re doing our level best to keep you afloat. My husband likes to joke that the “Corona Claus” is coming. Every.single.day. And you know what? Corona Claus has been coming. Every dadgum quarantined day on our front porch. It’s always a surprise as to what he will bring…one day it was $150 worth of sidewalk chalk. Yes. You read that right. The other day it was coffee beans (a welcome gift). And today? He delivered fly fishing gear. FLY FISHING. What in the ever-loving world? We’ve been binge-watching “Tiger King” and he buys fishing gear. FISHING GEAR. What’s Carole Baskin’s number? (I’m just kidding mother-in-law and Dateline.)

‘Tina made me do it.

I’ve been direct messaging and commenting on famous people’s posts on Instagram and Facebook– sort of like it’s my job. I’m either a few posts away from a restraining order or a meet up with somebody fantastic (other than these folks that are breathing the same air as me). If these celebs would quit making themselves so normalized and approachable, I’d leave them alone. But dangit, I’m an extrovert and I like people and if Leslie Jordan or Jenna Bush Hager or Joanna Gaines or Dylan Dreyer or Cardi B are reading this I WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND. REAL BAD. ‘CAUSE QUARANTINE!

(I’m fun and not too crazy! I promise!)

Well, I gotta run. There are a few giveaways to enter that I’ve got to share posts for and like all the accounts they are following and tag some friends like Leslie and Jenna and Joanna and Dylan and Cardi for a chance to win a pair of leg warmers and some hand sanitizer. It’s hard being so busy.

But ‘Tina made me do it.

P.S. Y’all tell me what kind of crazy you find yourself doing!