This COVID house arrest is getting old. It’s been three, four months, seven days a week, day in and day out. Surrounded by yourself 24 hours a day, like some sick torture. Same guy in the mirror from morning ‘til night.

And just look at him. Look at this guy. He’s a tubby. Too many Fig Newtons. He thinks they’re vegetables. He’s also convinced that potato chips are vegetables, too. How many times does he say that a day? There is no arguing with this guy. He’s pathetic.

Note to self: how about shedding a few, lard butt?

He’s 71 years old, thinks he’s 27. Believes he’s still a handsome devil. Really aggravating. Actually claims he knows what’s what about politics, finances, life and love. What a putz! He knows nothing. He’s wondering why he didn’t graduate summa cum laude in college? That’s what he thinks about. Also, he worries that he’s out of blueberries.

Note to self: Always review the grocery list.

He worries a lot. That head is constantly churning. Yeah, that head, the shiny bowling ball, Charlie Brown head. It’s like soap brain bubbles floating around in there. Lavender bubbles, no less.

He tried his hand at baking, bought a box of Betty Crocker and a can of icing and once it was done, he actually expected applause, his name in the paper. What a mook.

Note to self: Burnt cake stinks like an old wet dog, buy freshener.

Sometimes he wears his surgical mask inside the house and walks around yelling, "Stick ‘em up!" using his pointy finger "pshew! pshew!" like a gun. The masked bandit. Talk about annoying. He thinks he is hilarious. This has been going on for four months!

What he wants more than anything, more than anything at all, is to get to go down to the coffee shop and have a cup and a pastry. But how does he do that while wearing a mask? He even tried to invent a mask he could wear to hold off the COVID while chugging down the coffee. Contemplated the wealth a guy could make off such an invention.

Note to self: Better get more sleep, you’re falling apart. Note to self II: Learn to play ukulele.

This coffee business is sick since he’s got most of Colombia’s beans stashed around the house. He may run out of bread, milk or toilet tissue, but he’s not running out of coffee. So what’s the deal with hanging out at the coffee shop? He’ll tell you it’s the comfort of people. What is that?

Note to self: get a hobby. (See note above about ukulele.)

He goes to bed at odd hours and gets up at odder hours. There’s no rhyme or reason to his day. It’s like he flips a coin for his schedule. What schedule?

Note to self: Buy a clock, learn how to tell time.

And what’s the highlight of his day? He gets the mail. Around here it’s like a national holiday. You’d swear he was giving birth to a baby the way he goes on about delivering the mail to the dining room table. Yeah. That table, the one that looks like a D-Day bunker, the one with the can of nuts, and the glass of ice water, and the stacks of newspapers, and books, and the scissors and the letter opener and scrap paper for jotting down brilliant ideas and pens, and two phones. That dining room table. The one that was built for having dinners, meals. Remember meals? Not sandwiches or bits of liverwurst on crackers, but meals.

Remember what mother said about cooking? No, of course you don’t remember.

You have a memory like a sieve, mother’s favorite saying.

Note to self: Look up sieve in the dictionary. Note to self II: mom said if you can read, you can cook.

The other day he couldn’t remember Chuck Berry, Woodstock or his phone number. He’s losing it. How can you live with a guy like this? Look, he’s a nice guy and all, but not day in and day out. Get it? Enough!

Just sick of this guy.

Roger Verdon, of Lindsborg, is the former managing editor of The Hutchinson News.