Hostage Day No. 21:
At some point, men will need haircuts and the nail salons will be forced to reopen, or this thing could get really ugly. As it is, a lot of husbands are discovering that their wives have been coloring their hair. Once relationship secrets like that start spilling out, where does it end?
Turns out the Chardonnay Moms in our little town require a bit of maintenance. The husbands require almost zero. Once in a while, you splash them with a little Lysol.
"OK, dear, turn around," the wives then say, and blast them with the garden hose.
Remember "Dry January," when all the women quit drinking? Apparently that turned into "Chardonnay March," when everybody had a glass or two at lunch.
Dear Lord, what will April bring?
It has also come to my attention that our little suburb now also has Tequila Moms, even more thirsty-bold-alluring than the Chardonnay Moms. It's like gang warfare. And the kids are stuck at home with them. Yikes.
We live now in a world of our own small, comforting habits. Everyone is coping differently. My bored son and I pass long days practicing his driving. We drive round and round in giant loops, admiring the mushroom clouds of spring.
For a new driver, he's doing very well, though I have to remind him that Audis and other luxe sedans always have the right of way, at least here in California.
And he doesn't quite get stop signs. Once, he actually came to a full stop, and the driver behind him honked.