Of marriage & quarantine

This photo has nothing to do with this post other than it shows my cup on my desk. Not in the kitchen sink. It’s 5 degrees outside and I don’t want to go out there for any photos. And, trying to find a marriage photo isn’t my jam today.

I’ve been thinking a lot about marriage lately.

I guess I was spurred to do so after seeing a news story that said the divorce rate in 2020 rose steadily and this was attributed to the COVID pandemic. Basically, people being forced to spend so much time together. I get it.

Last year, as the pandemic compelled The Weed and me to spend hour after hour together, I started a COVID diary for social media. It chronicled our day-to-day tedium. Most days it was funny. Most days it was a nice diversion. I think it helped us through early quarantine and also helped to establish some routine in our new normal.

Today, if I were still doing the COVID diary, I think it would be much bleaker. The funny isn’t coming so freely.

Instead, I would likely write about:

• My husband using the razor I keep in the shower (for my use) to shave his body parts. I accidentally walked in on this the other day. My eyes! My razor!

• My husband yelling at me in the garage last week because I innocently threw away a dead house plant in the wrong bin. I accidentally tossed it in the recycling container. Dear sweet Baby Jesus. Everyone knows dead houseplants go in the compost container. He’s very Boulder now.

• The daily stalemate of who empties the kitchen sink/unloads the dishwasher. The same dishwasher that runs every day because, well, we can’t go anywhere and pay other people to clean our dirty dishes. As I type this, the sink is filled with my husband’s sticky morning orange juice glass; his morning coffee cup; and, my breakfast burrito plate. (My husband ate his breakfast burrito like a squirrel, nibbling on it from the foil wrapper in his hands. No plate. Touché!) Eventually, I will force myself to give in on the Sink Standoff. I will cave. Again.

• Cooking comments. For example, last night, I made a creamy mushroom chicken dish that—apparently—had ‘too much butter.’ What in the actual hell? Too? Much? Butter? He should know better than this. I hold grudges.

• My husband’s allegiance to watching television shows I do not enjoy, including: Pawn Stars, BattleBots, This Old House, Antiques Roadshow (I admit: I don’t hate this one. I just can’t binge it like he can.), and the worst: CNBC.

I guarantee The Weed has a similar list of marital grievances aimed at me but he’s far too polite to put them to paper. Or, maybe, he’s secretly writing a tell-all about our lives that will make millions of dollars upon publication and I will forever be labeled his Shrew Wife. Well played, Weed. Well played.

I find myself thinking back on years past when we didn’t spend so much time together. There were actual days when I missed my husband while he was at work. With him working from home, we don’t miss much of each other.

I wonder if it’s too late to ask for a few hours away from one another this Valentine’s Day.