The Corona Chronicles Remix

THE CORONA CHRONICLES

Day 50

Writing from the bunker in Ocean Beach

I swear I’m not making this up. So, I was in the kitchen pursuing my version of cooking, which mainly consists of heating stuff up, when I couldn’t find the sea salt.

I said, “Babe, did you move the sea salt?”

“No,” came my wife’s reply. “It’s in the cupboard.”

I looked in the cupboard.

Nothing.

I said, “It’s not there. Any other ideas?”

A long sigh, a soft thumping of feet and she appeared by my side. She opened the cupboard doors, and—you’re not going to believe this—right there in front of my eyes, the sea salt magically appeared. She turned to me, rolled her eyes and walked back into the front room. Mad skills.

Stuff I think about at 3AM: with a name like, “butterfly”, shouldn’t they be fatter? And, should we be concerned that everything we know about the human brain came from another brain?

Tasked with bringing eggs home from the grocery store, I got there only to realize that the old lady in front of me had just picked up the last carton. I was immediately presented with an existentialistic conundrum: do I distract her and remove the eggs from her cart in hopes that, being elderly, she wouldn’t notice, or do I, instead, avail myself of the rack of Cadbury eggs next to the cooler? On a separate note, Cadbury eggs are really quite versatile if one puts one’s mind to it.

#LifeHack: When picking out art supplies for stay-at-home art projects for your children, do not, under ANY circumstances choose glitter. You will later regret it. FOREVER. And your children. And their children. And their children’s children.

I just got a notification in the mail from my airline saying that if I book a flight today, they will pick me up in a limo, give me VIP status through security, carry me on their shoulders down the jetway while singing, “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” and let me fly the plane. I don’t know. I think they can do better.

In case you’ve been wondering, a large group of other people’s children is called a, “Nope!”  

I came back from my morning walk and told my wife, “I almost got bitten by a pit bull.”

“What?” she replied in alarm. “That’s terrible. What if it would’ve been a small child?”

“Oh, no worries,” said I. “I could have fought off a small child.”

“Hello there! I am a dollar store towel. I know I look like a normal towel, but I am made entirely from a petroleum-laced substance and will repel moisture far more effectively than ANY raingear.”

And finally, before you buy anything online you need to stop and ask yourself, “Am I prepared to see a sales ad for that same item on every social media site I visit until the day I die?”

RG…out!

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