“I think everybody is having a better pandemic experience than me,” the wife confided to the ODD reporter.  “And I’m jealous of every single one of them, including and especially my very best friends!”
 

“Who?  Well, I’m jealous of the ones who got away this summer, who already have fire pits, who’ve weight-lifted their way to buffness.  The ones bravely commuting to work, working productively at home, or home schooling four kids AND working productively at home…I salute them all and am insanely jealous of them all.  And I feel really bad for feeling this way.
 

“But here’s the thing:  I had so many great pandemic plans! That I’d get rid of all the clutter in the house with my name on it. Get in tip top shape with zoom!  Become an expert vegetarian cook!  Revise my f**king memoir!  None of that happened.” 
 

The wife confessed her secret to a beloved friend.  “She told me, ‘It’s okay, you’re doing fine, these are hard times, and look at all the things you have done.’”
 

“Did I feel better?  Of course, I felt better!  She is an extraordinary person.  Smart.  Incredibly kind.  Empathetic.  Accomplished...pandemic accomplished.  
 

 “I’m so jealous.”

“I was returning from a short ride, almost home when I heard a snap, crackle and pop and the pedals stopped spinning. I slammed on my brakes, came to a screeching halt and thought,‘This ain’t good,’” reported the husband. 

“So I dismounted to examine the situation and quickly determined that my bike wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe ever again. I had only one option at that moment. Walk the remaining mile to get home (the wife -- aka, driver of the Team Car -- was out on her own mission).”
 

“That doesn’t sound so terrible, only a mile,” said ODD reporter.
 

“Have you ever had to walk a mile in cycling shoes, carrying a bike on one shoulder then the other, then trying to roll it on one wheel?” the husband barked.  
 

“I have not,” said the reporter, somewhat defensively. 
 

“Well it sucks!” said the husband. “First, cycling shoes have very stiff soles. Second, and this probably should have been first, they have cleats on the bottom (to clip into the pedals). Your heels are lower than your toes and there is almost no traction, so you have to proceed at a snail’s pace.”
 

“But you made it home?” queried the reporter, tentatively.
 

“Yeah, I did,” the husband replied, calming down. “And the damage wasn’t as bad as I feared, to me (it did take about a week for the grooves in my shoulders to disappear) or more important, to my bike.”

“I have ‘good’ clothes to wear out in the world and ‘around the house’ clothes, you know, schmatas,”  the wife explained to ODD.

“But I’ve been living in these schmatas for 8 months, saving my ‘good’ clothes, like my ‘good’ red sweater that I love, for when this is all over. Look at what I’m wearing! I can’t take it anymore!”
 

Her clothes looked ok, thought the reporter, but her hair could do with some tidying up.
 

“What do you mean, good clothes?” said the eavesdropping husband.  “Even in normal times, I never had ‘good’ clothes. I have indoor clothes and outdoor clothes.” Which led him to realize it was noon, time to head upstairs to change out of his pajamas into some other indoor clothes.
 

“This means he’s about to put on a barely connected array of rags that used to be a sweatshirt,” announced the wife.
 

Desperate for counsel, the wife called her dear friend Sara to ask: “Is it time to break out the ‘good’ clothes?”
 

“Absolutely!” Sara said. “They make us feel better. Why would you not?”
 

“Well, when it’s over, what if all my good clothes have turned into schmatas?” wailed the wife.
 

“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” replied Sara.  “And let’s face it, we’re probably not coming to it any time soon.”
 

Reassured, the wife donned her good red sweater and headed for the basement to take out the trash.