“Let’s get drunk.” said D. At noon.
I am not sure if he is joking. He rarely drinks alcohol. Especially midweek, when the sun is still up.
“I have too many things to do today” I say. “I’ve got a really long list of chores to get through.” It’s true. 15 days is starting to feel like not enough time to get through my Quarantine To-Do list.
D is laughing at me. “Chores? You are soooo sensible. Let’s have some fun!”
“What’s wrong with being sensible?” I ask.
D laughs at me even harder.
B chimes in, “You’re in quarantine, you’ve got nothing better to do. Why not?”
I shake my head.
“Mum’s no fun.” says D
“Yeah, Mum’s no fun” agrees B.
Are they right? Am I not fun?
“Aw, don’t worry, Mummy!” B hugs me. “Mums are meant to be boring. It’s ok.”
I make Piña-colada smoothies from a whole pineapple, and although they do not contain alcohol, they are topped with whipped cream, with rainbow sprinkles. And garnish. I take one upstairs to A’s room where she is revising Chemistry. I hand over the over brightly coloured bribe, “Am I fun?” I ask.
“If you have to ask me if you’re fun, you’re probably not.” she says. “A bit like when someone asks you to trust them, you know they probably aren’t trustworthy.”
“Oh” I say, deflated.
I go downstairs, and start on my chores.
In the afternoon, I paint the front door a darker shade of grey. It’s satisfying. But it’s certainly not fun. Perhaps there is no hope for me. Paloma, the cat, keeps me company on the front porch, and I notice the new door colour is the same shade as her coat. “Paloma Grey” I rename the paint colour.
“What are you doing?” asks A, opening the door from the inside, peering her head around inquisitively.
“I am watching paint dry” I say.
“Boring!” she smiles.
I do have a reputation to uphold after all.
