Apparently, the face I make when eating a bad orange has bothered Jaime since the dawn of time, but he's just now getting around to telling me.
Other than that, we're handing social distancing pretty well.
I've never met anyone as suited to working from home as Jaime. He can stay in bed for hours focused on the task at hand while declaring every 90 minutes or so that he probably gets more done naked at home than clothed in the office.
If I had a snow day, and Jaime arrived home to see me smeared with chocolate and peanut butter watching Schitt's Creek for the 9th time in a fart cloud, he would have the exact same reaction as if I'd cleaned the house top to bottom, meal planned for two weeks and completely fixed the outcome of the 2020 presidential election.
"Fuck it. It's your time. Do what you want with it."
I really appreciate this about him, so I try not to micromanage his time either, but the pressure of the virus got to me while stuck late at parent-teacher conferences, and even we had to make sacrifices.
After I ended the call asking Jaime to go to the grocery store, the science teacher assured me that he could do this.
He couldn't, but that's none of science nerd's business, so instead I answered the question he'd asked me before: What would you use if we ran out of toilet paper?
At first I said Jaime's old underwear, but then I changed it to bidet. I'm pricing bidets now.
The groceries were on the table when I got home. I explained it's customary to put sundries away after purchase, but he assured me he'd refrigerated all the perishables. I went to bed so freaking excited to put them away in the morning.
Jaime was still sleeping, so I had to laugh-cry silently while unpacking from what appeared to be his maiden journey to any grocery store anywhere.
He bought two jars of rhubarb jam but no bread, two boxes of cereal but no milk, oats that we already have and don't eat and the most gigantic can of baked beans made with bacon. We're vegetarians.
He explained that bread, oat milk and fresh vegetables are all perishable, so he didn't buy them. I asked him if the 23 bananas (actual number) he bought were perishable, but he just shrugged.
So now, we're just chilling at home for the unforeseeable future, snacking on some banana bread with jam reminding each other why we promised to hang out in sickness and in health until one of us dies.
Does anyone want these? Pinto beans not included.
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