For not the first time in a decade, the man cave has come in handy.
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.
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.