My Pandemic Valentine
Hopefully, the worst of the Omicron surge is in the rearview. But it looks like, for me and my wife at least, this Valentine’s Day will be another at-home holiday—just to be safe. Sigh. We’ll order in a special meal, maybe. And spend time together. Just the two of us. Like last year. Because we haven’t already spent almost all of our time together for the last two years, just us.
I love my wife, Sandy, more than I can ever express. She is the kindest and best person I know. But I don’t know how she has managed to put up with me during these last two years of near isolation and forced togetherness. So this year, I thought I would pen a “Thank You for Putting Up with Me During the Pandemic, Valentine!”
Thank you, wonderful wife for never blinking when I yell at Alexa. I do this because Alexa plays the same music on “70s on 7” as “The Bridge.” Except “70s on 7” always plays “Billy, Don’t Be a Hero,” “I Want You to Want Me,” and “Run, Joey, Run!” at least three times a day.
So I tell Alexa to play “The Bridge,” a mellower version. You get Steve Winwood, Neil Young, or Jackson Browne. Every. Single. Time. “Alexa!,” I scream, “play Classic Vinyl!” This frequently helps. Until they play Peter Frampton or Boston. Then it’s on to Classic Rewind (same issue). And if I hear “The Safety Dance” one more time on “80s on 8,” I’m just going to lose consciousness. You get the picture. Why not play my own playlists, you might ask. I did. Over and over. Last year. And I’m already sick of the new one I created last month.
Thank you, oh most understanding wife, for not throwing my computer at me at least once this year. Countless times I have panicked over losing a document that, oh wait, there it is—right there on the desktop! And that email that actually WASN’T deleted. You come all the way downstairs for these after my frantic texts. Like you aren’t doing your own work or anything…
And how about all those work VPN connection issues that I now call my agency’s Help Desk for? Better them than you, I finally determined. I can ask them why things work (or don’t) the way they do (or don’t) and I don’t question their incomprehensible answers. “Oh yes, of course,” I reply to them, sagely. I’ve been using computers since they came out and I still don’t understand how they work. I just want them to.
Thank you, most patient wife, for staying outside with the dogs while the kitties take their sweet-ass time eating their breakfast and using the litterboxes in the morning. Especially these cold, snowy mornings. “Not yet—Charlie hasn’t gone!” This is the only Valentine you’ll get from the cats. Ever.
Thank you, generous wife, for ordering vast numbers of lesbian romance, fiction, and sci-fi novels that I consume faster than they can be located or written. I know that you will teach me how to do it myself one of these days, when I’m not asking why a certain selection won’t delete.
And for not getting terribly upset when I fall asleep in the comfy chair after work when you want to put your feet up. Yes, we have many chairs. But the comfy chair reigns supreme.
Thank you, exhausted wife, for trying to keep up with me being a night owl. I have a nighttime alarm set on my phone to tell me to go to bed. I think that after the third “one more chapter” you should leave me downstairs at the kitchen table to fall asleep on my iPad. I feel terrible waking you up from the comfy chair to tell you it’s time for us to go to bed.
And finally, thank you, sweet wife for assuring me that the Christmas tree lights, stove, and HVAC system will not burn the house down by themselves while we sleep. And for just being there with me when I’m depressed or when all I can offer to your questions is monosyllabic answers because I’m overwhelmed with anxiety at the state of the world.
I love you for these and so many other reasons. You and I have been fortunate these past couple of pandemic years. We haven’t gotten sick. We haven’t argued much. We have jobs, can work from home, we have enough food and a good house, dear friends and family, and loving fur babies.
So happy pandemic Valentine’s Day. But are you still sure you want to be married to me? ▼
Beth Shockley is a public affairs specialist and a former editor of Letters.