Dear Diary II

Day 54 of the quarantine. Lately I have opted to try and amuse myself and my family members by adopting the speech pattern of an 80 year old Brooklynite. I wander around, bent over with a stoop complaining, “I don’t like this terlet paper we’ve had to buy. It’s very abrasive. It irritates my bottom.” I found it amusing. My family did not.

I must be going now. In an effort to “stay regulah, I’m having a salad for dinner with nuthin’ but earl and vinegah on it.”

Till next time….

Dear Diary

Day 45 of the quarantine. Today, again, I re-injured myself by bumping my head after pacing around and walking into the clear plexiglass wall I had built in my basement, which of course was done for my own protection. The first time was passing out from lack of oxygen after realizing I should have poked a few air holes in the glass. You would have thought I’d learned this lesson after the unfortunate hamster incident from my youth. Despite adding the air holes it still gets very cloudy and greasy in here when using my George Forman grill. Spraying air freshener only adds to the London feel and creates a very strange odor. I’m not sure how to describe the mix of potpourri and burger fat but that’s the end result. I resist using my Lysol disinfectant, because, let’s face it, that’s gold these days. But there are benefits to all of this. It blocks the judgemental faces and shaking of heads from my disapproving family who remain on the other side of the glass supposedly “making the best” of the whole situation. So there….

Till next time.