Covid Lockdown (Day 1: Two Week Supply Of Pringles Eaten On First Day)
Woke with plans to go for a walk. Remembered I can’t go outside and I don’t like walking. I can hear the missus in the kitchen making sausages. I fought hard to get those sausages the previous day. I won’t go into it, but people died. I saw things in that supermarket I wouldn’t tell to my deaf dog. He’s very loyal but never comes when I call him. Also, I don’t own a dog, it’s a cat and his name is Frank. And let me tell you. Frank is an absolute bastard. He’s only got one eye and is terribly fond of a tummy tickle.
I get out of bed, I’m not sure if I should get dressed. I should really take a shower. I won’t be heading anywhere, but my wife shouldn’t be subjected to my morning musk. Not yet. That will come later, when social order has completely collapsed and I can fart in the bed without fear of retribution.
I’d love a coffee but they’ve shut all the cafes. I can’t subject my palate to Maxwell house on day one. Can I? I can hold out. I’m a man and a man doesn’t need coffee to get his engine going in the morning.
As I drink the Maxwell house, I wonder how old it is. It was in the house when I moved in. As I took that first sip, I thought of the child that picked the coffee beans in the field of some godforsaken country. He was probably already an old man by now. I checked the back of the jar for its origin. “Galway, Ireland”. Just as I’d expected. A desolate place, no place for a child to grow up.
We had breakfast, eggs, sausages and toast washed down with Galways finest blend. What would we watch on television? Our Spanish still quite poor. The fact that we live in Spain makes that fact important to the story. We flicked through the channels in hope of an English word until we came to "The Big Bang Theory.
So, we watched the news in Spanish. Things don’t look good. The prime minister's wife has got the bug. Her husband is staying at home to take care of her. Thanks Pedro, now I'll have to take care of my wife if she gets sick. He has set a bar for men, and that bar is too damn high. I look at my wife considering how quickly I can throw her over the balcony should she begin to cough.
Wait, is that a runny nose I see. No, it’s fine, just some egg stuck to her upper lip. You survive for another day my dear wife. We turn on an episode of Seinfeld. Who built that apartment? So many odd angles. I’d crack if I had to spend the lockdown in there. There’d be no corner for my wife to send me to when I’ve done something wrong.
I sit at the table to write. Not this, I’m writing this so I don’t have to write the thing I’m meant to be writing. It’s going well, look at me go. Words, sentences, phrases. Oh look, a butterfly.
Fifteen days inside with the love of my life. Hopefully my wife doesn't find her. She would surely one day soon become my mortal enemy. Already distrusting looks were being thrown about the room. She couldn’t be trusted. I could hear her eating my Pringles. She let out a loud fart to cover the distinctive pop of the lid, but no fart, no matter the decibel level can mask that sound. I ask what she is doing? “Nothing”, she replies. I’ll give you nothing you Pringles stealing wench. We only had one box. One box would never last us 15 minutes never mind 15 days.
I begin to make dinner. My wife finds this strange as we’ve only just eaten breakfast. I open a cooking book and look through its many impossible recipes. I stop on one particularly tasty looking one and begin to read the necessary ingredients. 1. Water. Yes, I have water. Comes out of the tap over there. 2. Xanthan gum. Fuck!
I throw the leftovers from yesterday into a pan. A terrible mix of pasta, asparagus and mushrooms. I add hot sauce to spice it up and some pesto for that awful pesto taste. It was absolutely disgusting, inedible slop. My wife refused to eat it. I refused to refuse to eat it. I couldn’t show weakness in front of her. Not on day one.
Alcohol levels: 8 bottles of beer and half a bottle of wine remain.
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