Day 123

Day 123, self quarantine:

Wednesday, July 15, 2020

Yep, I’m posting the date now because I really can’t believe we’re four months into this thing and I have no idea what day it is otherwise.

Though not to rub it in, today is really my Thursday since I’m off Friday.

So yesterday I woke up with a serious craving for a soft pretzel.

“You want what?” Gary asked.

“Soft pretzels with mustard.  Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a lunatic.”

“I don’t think you’re a lunatic,” he said.  “It’s 8:00 a.m.  I haven’t even had coffee yet.”

Oh.

So I took an early lunch and we hopped in the car to procure some hot out of the oven pretzels.  I realized we hadn’t had them since quarantine which is a sacrilege if you live in Philadelphia.

They were really good.

But then, as I was upstairs working, basking in my after pretzel glow, Gary appeared in the doorway of Julie’s former bedroom/my office, white as a ghost.

“What’s the matter?” I asked him, alarmed.

“I just got stung by a bee.”

Oh god, it was so hard not to laugh.  The expression on his face was everything.

He looked like The Scream.

It was like he was shocked a bee would actually do that.

I’ve known him since we’re kids so I wasn’t worried he was allergic.

It really was no big deal.

But he had to tell me the whole story, anyway.

“You know that busybody down the street?  With the short gray hair?”

“No.”

Gary looked at me frustrated.

“Sure you do.  She has a picture of Gritty in her window.  She’s a real yenta, she’s always asking about the kids.”

“Who?”

“At the end of the block.  She’s always outside on her step wearing a mumu.  You know who I mean.”

No, I really don’t.  You’re the one who talks to all the neighbors, Gar.

“Anyway, she walked over to me while I was messing with the flower boxes and she wasn’t wearing a mask and I wasn’t wearing a mask and I tried to get away from her and I wasn’t paying attention and all of a sudden it felt like sharp teeth tearing into my finger...”

I know I am a terrible person but my eyes started watering from trying not to laugh and then I tried fake coughing to cover it up.

“I got the stinger out and sprayed my finger with Benadryl and I also took a Benadryl,” he added.

Oh god.  I coughed and laughed at the same time and then buried my face into Jake, who was snoring on Julie’s bed behind me, so Gary wouldn’t see.

No worries.  He didn’t notice, he launched into the story of how it happened again.

By the time he was finished, I was able to manage some sympathetic  clucking.

He told me the story fifty more times before bed, though each time adding new details.

There were a swarm of bees in the final version.

Maybe a hive.

And of course he kept showing me his finger.

“It doesn’t look swollen at all,” I told him.

“I know!  It’s because I treated it with Benadryl right away! Spray and pill!”

Oy.

So this is retired life?  A bee sting is an exciting event we talk about for hours?

It was hilarious, I’ll give you that.

And who am I to talk, I just excitedly wrote about it.

And eating a soft pretzel.

Also, I have been sitting here laughing like an idiot for the past half hour over the “boobee” joke.

😂😂😂

Ah, getting older is grand.

Yeah, yeah, I know.  It beats the alternative.

Okay, I’m gonna end it here. There’s a lot of darker virus stuff on my mind this morning but I’ll keep it light.

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do today.