The honeymoon phase of quarantine appears to be over

Burt's Eye View

Quarantine Diary, Day 1: “This is so wonderful.” Warm waves of love flowed from her embrace. “You’ll be home with me all the time.”

I inhaled her fragrance. “We’ll be together all day every day.”

Quarantine Diary, Day 3: “Should I thaw the sirloin or the swordfish for you tonight, my love?”

“Swordfish. With asparagus.” I winked. “As soon as I zap this document to the office, I’ll be off the clock and be with you in the kitchen, Sweetheart.”

“I so adore having you home.”

Quarantine Diary, Day 7: “What movie should we cuddle up to tonight, dearest?”

“You choose, darling.” I clicked the DVD player. “Just not another musical.”

“Oh, you’ll love ‘My Fair Lady.’ Such great songs.”

“Yes, but…” I gazed into her adoring eyes. “‘My Fair Lady’ for my fair lady it is.”

She nestled her head onto my shoulder. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if quarantine lasted long after the pandemic ends?”

I shivered.

Quarantine Diary, Day 10: “Now I know why the dog chewed the furniture when we left him home.”

Quarantine Diary, Day 12: She swarmed into the room. Again. “I know what we can do today.”

I cringed. “What now? Uh, my sweet love.”

“Let’s plant a forsythia bush at the north corner of the house.”

I typed faster, but I couldn’t hear my thoughts over her yammering.

“I’m working,” I growled. “That’s what working from home means. I have to work. From home. Now I’ve completely lost the flow.”

“But what about the forsythia?”

“Aaargghhh!” I slammed the laptop shut. “I’m locking myself in the bathroom until I finish this report.”

“What if I have to go?”

“Try the north corner of the house!”

Quarantine Diary, Day 15: She crossed her arms. “You know you can wash more than just your hands. In fact, you should wash more than just your hands. When was the last time you took a shower?”

Quarantine, Day 19: “Why are you all dressed up?”

“I’m taking the garbage to the curb,” she said. “It’s the only time I get to go somewhere.”

Quarantine Diary, Day 23: The microwave dinged. “Supper’s ready.” She tossed a wrapped burrito at me. “Dig in.”

“We’re not going to watch ‘My Fair Lady’ again are we? All they do is sing about the weather in Madrid. Henry Higgins — that sounds like the name of someone in a Beverly Cleary novel for third-graders, and he’s still a jerk at the end of the movie.”

“Oh, and professional wrestling is better? It’s plain that the sound is him slapping his own thigh, not the stupid super kick thingy.”

“At least they’re not caterwauling about rain falling on the plain in Spain.”

Quarantine Diary, Day 29: “Stop it,” she snapped.

“What now?”

“Blinking. You’re eyelids sound like jackhammers smashing cement.”

“I’m surprised you can hear anything over that tornado of breathing. You sound like a bull with an asthma attack.”

Quarantine Diary (supplemental), Day 47: “Where’s your husband?”

“The north corner of the house. I painted his hair yellow and planted him. He’s so wonderful now that he’s a forsythia bush.”

— Tell Cole how your quarantine is going at burtseyeview@tribtoday.com, the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook or @BurtonWCole on Twitter.


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