A voice rings out from the laundry room.

“Are we out of Unstoppables? I think we’re out of Unstoppables.”

Another booming voice retorts from the kitchen.

“OMG, QUICK! Grab the keys and hurry to the Walmart! We’re out of UNSTOPPABLES!”

As predicted, the sarcasm has set in nicely.

The word Unstoppables bandied about for what seemed like hours. It was likely minutes, but no matter.

The vague scent of Lysol spray wafts through the entire house, with a constant soundtrack of coffee bubbling and brewing in the kitchen. A subtle click-clack from three laptops drones on alongside a moaning dog who can no longer stand having the giant cone required post-surgery mounted on his head. My teenage son has resorted to showering and doing laundry out of boredom. We ordered Lord of Flies for the younger teenagers to read. Apropos, their Dad and I thought for the circumstances. We’re waiting on the older teenager to return home, and then pseudo-lock-down will commence, Ethan Hawke Purge style. Minus Lena Headey kicking the shit out of the blonde neighbor. Although, perhaps the quarantine is young?

We’re stocked in the paper products department. I used an entire Mr Clean Magic Eraser to clean every inch of a tiny bathroom yesterday. Shoes now live in our basement and are banned from inside the living space.

Tomorrow, we embark on our first workday. Praying the WiFi holds.