March

I find it quite apt that this was Mr. March in the Outlander calendar, because this is what quarantining has been like in the Faille/Huxley/Metchette household during March.

(Now I hasten to add that if your last name begins with F, this is a HUMOROUS post. Please react accordingly.)

(My last post was received with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.)

We are all at the end of our respective tethers as March draws to a close. Even the pets. The dog wanders restlessly through the rooms and barks at anything that moves. The cats hiss at each other and throw up. We humans do the human equivalent of hissing and barking at each other quite regularly. The only thing we're united in is watching the news at 7 pm every night. Counting the dead-and-dying together.

Tonight we're going to try to play a game with H &  J via Zoom or Skype or whatever... Perhaps this will help to put us into a more jovial mood. I certainly hope...

Today's complaint (reminder: to be taken HUMOROUSLY!) is about He-Who-Works-From-Home.

I have never - repeat, never - met anyone with a work ethic like Boyfriend, short of an Asian.

He's up at five o'clock every morning and downstairs online, working, by 6 am. Each and very day. Showered and dressed up, I might add. Gel in the hair and everything. Mr. Boyfriend is quite regular in his habits! He's what they call a self-starter. And a damn good one.

I have never been a self-starter. And this definitely rubs Boyfriend the wrong way. My new name, according to Boyfriend, is "Miss Retired Person." As in, retired from life, the universe, and everything! As in, "I can't pick that up/wash that/cook that" because I'm retired.

But I digress.

Mr. Boyfriend doesn't even take his two permitted-by-law fifteen minute breaks. (Remember, he's working from home!)

His lunch "hour" consists of coming upstairs, heating something in the microwave, and bringing it with him as he goes back downstairs to eat it at his desk...this is while Working From Home!

For the rest of the (sane) world, "working from home" is a euphemism for checking your work email every couple of hours and screwing the dog in the meantime.

Not so for Boyfriend. What he can find to do is beyond my ability to guess, but he's there plugging away for NINE hours a day, planning, learning, working working working...

And that in itself is admirable.

Ahem.

There is just this tiny (humorous!) fact that came out in today's lunch break conversation.

Boyfriend: There's cream cheese out on the counter.
Me: Oh yeah. Could you put it back in the fridge please?
Boyfriend: Love, I am WORKING. I'm on company time! (goes back downstairs.)
Me: *thinks murderous thoughts.

I appreciate that Boyfriend is keeping me fed and housed and all that...

But he's so insufferably self-righteous about it!
(See picture at top of blog!)

Corvid19 Quarantine

Yeah...so everyone went out to the stores and emptied the shelves of things they won't need because they're panicking.

This is what cuts in education bring to a society.

And the younger ones are partying for a week on Florida beaches, ready to get sick because they don't think they will, or because they don't think it'll be serious. Lack of education again.

They're not considering anybody else they might come in contact with, who THEY might hurt.

Selfish bastards.

Rubbing shoulders with my two beloveds with no escape in sight has brought into clear focus the things I DO and DO NOT love about them. And I'm sure the reverse is true for them.

About ten minutes ago I seriously considered getting myself an apartment. Stayed because at least from here I might be able to help my Daughter financially if she needs it.

And that's the only reason I stopped myself.

Hubby and I used to joke that if I didn't live with him I wouldn't need as many meds as I do. That stopped being funny about 20 years ago.

I want to ask about My Job. As in, "Why is that my job?"

I blew up this morning, told the guys I was going to start acting like a MAN.

I'm not making their mental well-being a priority now.

One of them refuses to put tupperware away. He likes single-use plastic baggies, so he can throw the container away with the leftovers when they go bad because he doesn't eat leftovers.

The other one says, and I quote, "I don't know where that goes," TWO YEARS into living here.

A WOMAN eats leftovers, carefully puts them in washable containers, washes and puts said containers away when the leftovers have been eaten.

A WOMAN LOOKS to see where things go.

I'm sick to death of being the only WOMAN in this house.

Well I'm taking a demotion. From now on I'm a MAN.

I'm not going to care about anybody else. Put anything away where it goes. Cook anything. Cook anything that somebody likes or doesn't like, besides ME.

Why is it My Job to make sure the meals are healthy and made of things that everybody likes?

When Hubby cooks, it usually involves spaghetti, a can of sauce, and hot spices that make it inedible. He likes it spicy, because he's only got one tastebud left and it takes a lot to get it excited.

I don't remember the last time Boyfriend cooked anything.

Because we're in quarantine mode, the cleaning lady didn't come this week.

Who is vacuuming? Who wipes the counters? Who cleans the toilet and the tub?

I don't think those things are my job. And apparently they're not anybody else's either.

And why should it be my job? Do I experience a great sense of satisfaction from it? Am I particularly good at it? Does it involve a unique set of skills that only I have? Does it require training for complex items of machinery?

Nope.

One of them's going to say he doesn't know where the cleaning materials are kept.

The other is going to throw them out.

The old saying ARE true - Familiarity does breed contempt. And only absence makes the heart grow fonder.