Lessons I learned at the end of the world
If it felt at all safe, I would finish this column and go out for a beer.
How incredibly old-fashioned it sounds to talk about going out for a beer.
"Honey, I'm going to go out for a beer," I'd say. "I'll be back by 10."
My father said that to his wife, and my grandfather said that to his wife, and I have said it to my wife. Though, in these modern times, she sometimes comes with me when I go out for a beer, although she drinks wine -- merlot to be exact.
But we are pandemic-ed. There will be no going out for a beer.
Oh, yes, the bars are open where I live. Though they don't let you sit at the bar, only at a table. But I do not intend to die of anything so boring as a bad flu, so I stay home.
They say I'm "living in fear," but I don't feel scared. I feel like I'm cutting the odds a little by staying home and by wearing a mask when I go out.
And, no, I don't think doing those things guarantees that I won't get the virus. I wear the mask the way I shovel my walk when it snows. I don't think shoveling guarantees no one will fall, but I think it narrows the odds a little. If you could go into a casino and narrow the blackjack odds by 1%, then you could walk out rich.
I've learned a couple things between beers here at the end of the world. Pull up that couch you've been living on, and I'll share.
Spending time home alone with your wife will not tell you if she loves you, but it will tell you how much she likes you, which is nearly as important. I've always said that having a girlfriend is like boxing amateur, but having a wife is like boxing professionally. It's all fighting, but there's more at stake if you're a pro -- and you're far more likely to be killed. After months of being very close in a very small marital boxing ring, my wife still seems to like me, and I like her.