Damage Report — 3 Weeks into Quarantine

Damage Report — 3 Weeks Into Quarantine

I live with my wife, three teenagers and a ten-year-old in a tiny one-story bungalow on the southeast side of Denver. After three weeks of quarantine, our beloved little chalet, and the people and possessions within, are taking a beating.

This is the part where I would normally describe myself as an oafy, lumbering dolt equally as destructive as a teenager. I would normally do that because I am a fan of self-deprecating humor. But as the human most often assigned to fixing shit around here, the care I take not to break shit makes me no match for the destructive forces of the three teens and their ten-year-old protege.

There is glue and paint on our dining room table. The glue is Gorilla Glue or Crazy Glue or something meant to re-secure the wing onto an airplane. It is not Elmer’s, and it is not coming off. Neither is the paint. To avoid being accused of being overly dramatic (by my wife), I must disclose that we bought our dining room table at one of those, “deals so great this stuff must have fallen off the back of a boat,” international warehouse stores with a cute, worldly name (which I can’t remember at the moment) for like $50 about twelve years ago. After over a decade of flailing utensils, nightly milk spills, casserole dishes sans hot pads, occasional Lego construction…