The good news: It came home from college on Spring Break this week. The bad news: because of this Coronavirus thing, Spring Break may last forever.
Don’t get me wrong, I love It; It’s my son. And as much as I’ve missed It, I didn’t want It coming home under these circumstances. It’s less like Spring Break than it is a hostage situation. And I’m the hostage.
Nonetheless, I got the house ready for Its arrival: I stocked the fridge and pantry with food he can grumble and complain about; I updated the cable and streaming services so we now get every series, movie, sporting event and slide show known to man; and most important, I cleaned, disinfected and aired out his room. I spent a month’s salary on I Love My Carpet and Febreze. I put fresh flowers all over the house and hung a huge “Welcome Home” sign in the foyer.
The car pulled up, It got out, went right up to Its room, closed the door and pulled the shades; I’ve only seen It a few times since; like a Sasquatch, It only comes out to feed. Conversation’s been difficult because teens only speak Grunt, and since It’s been away at college, I’ve gotten a bit rusty- you know what they say, if you don’t use it, you lose it. So I’m on Babble for a quick refresher and I’m slowly regaining my fluency. I’m pretty sure the next time It comes out of Its room, we’ll have an absolutely scintillating Gruntfest.