For not the first time in a decade, the man cave has come in handy.
Sure, I’ve put hundreds of thousands of miles on the Lying Nazi Bullshit Diesel and the new Smart-ass Car making the trek to work in Tucson.
Sure, half the weeks I can’t get the underwear and sock count right between two homes. No, I don’t “double up” — I wash. I have two washing machines and dryers, so fuck you for thinking I was wearing shit inside out on the second day — the thought never occurred to me.
But now with this pandemic, while most of you unlucky fuckers are stuck at home with your “loved ones”, I have a choice.
Or should I say, the Bear has a choice.
Fish and guests begin to rot after 3 days. On the fourth day in Gilbert, the Bear looked at me and said, “Don’t you have another home to go to.” Autocorrect wants to end that string with a question mark. But it was not a question — it was a clear declarative sentence whose meaning cannot be missed. “Get the fuck out of my house before I have to kill you.” Period.
So down the highway I went. Worked out well. I’d drive down on Tuesdays and stay till Friday. The Third World tennis courts were still open, so I’d get a little time with the survivors of the fucked-up tennis team.
The empty courts of the Third World Racquet Club.
Larry brought whiskey and beer to the last meeting for fuck’s sake. My game sucked after the third shot. But who cares. Let’s have a little fun while the world spins into the 4th circle of hell (social isolation).
But in early April, the Third World club shut down completely. No more tennis. No reason to leave Gilbert.
Spotify is stuck on The Clash — “Do I Stay or Do I Go.”
I’m stuck between laziness and survival. It would be easier to stay. Less laundry. Less driving. My lazy side could get 6 more hours of nap time per week.
But if I stay it’s only a matter of time, before the Bear flips back to the Investigation Discovery channel, binges on “Wives with Knives” and completes her plan for collecting on my life insurance.
I’ve been volunteering to clean up the kitchen after every snack or meal. Good chance to count the knives while she’s not looking.
I’ve ridden my road bike far from home for 3 or 4 hours at a time. I’ve been volunteering as her “tech guy” to make her working from home as easy as possible.
But it’s been a decade of having a part-time wife. Weekends in Gilbert has almost been like dating. We get cleaned up and hide the dark side of our personalities for years at a time. Anybody can fake it from Friday night to Monday morning.
Who knows if we can handle this full-time relationship shit. This bullshit blog is not helping…
So we will see this week. One of us will probably institute an executive order for “spousal distancing” and I’ll be driving my ass to the Dirty T to wait out this calamity.
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I saw a news report last night where a police chief was claiming that many crimes, such as burglary, have gone down during the lockdown, and that domestic violence has not gone up much. I’m wondering how he defines “much”. Be careful. Tread lightly and sleep with one eye open.
If I disappear, fill the Bear with tequila, and she will tell you how to find the body.
I hear they are not actually doing autopsies for people dying at home anymore unless there are signs of trauma, figuring it was coronavirus or a heart attack. Watch what you are eating and drinking!!
These are the minds of things wives find out and husbands have no clue. Please don’t tell the Bear…
Some helpful tips for surviving Shelter in Place:
Sleep with a cookie sheet on your chest, the thickest one you have. Grind the sharp tips off all your knives.
If you’re taking a bath be mindful of small electrical appliances, “why is the toaster in here?”
If you come home and no one else is around that smell of natural gas is real, do not turn on any lights.
BTW, I heard the Governor reduced Mariticide to a misdemeanor.
Good luck Campers
It’s only a misdemeanor if she gets caught.
Does bellowing “DO IT YOURSELF” count as spousal assault? I was put on cleaning duty this morning (yet again). I wiped and I disinfected every counter surface, bathroom sink and toilet in the house. I cleaned every doorknob (both sides!) . I wipes down the refrigerator and the kitchen cabinets. I was then told I wasn’t “doing it correctly”. After using disinfectant I was supposed to wipe with a WET cloth and then go back and wipe with a DRY cloth. Oh – and when was i going to do the mopping? Vesuvius exploded. My worst case scenario beautiful daughter said this could go on till august. Laughing at me, she said – you’ll never make it. she’s right. I asked her to hide the knives so I don’t go looking for them. sm
Yes. “Do It yourself” is an agreed upon perfect justification for husbandicide.
That’s what I’m missing – a second residence where I can hide … or banish my husband.
I’m an introvert living with an extrovert during a lockdown. I’m finding that maintaining a mellow buzz all day helps take the edge off.
He might actually make it to the end of this crisis.
He might — as long as the buzz lasts.