Our tax preparer's office went on lock down right before the quarantine began, one day before our scheduled appointment! So Bill dropped off the paperwork at an overpriced strip mall tax agency.
On a cold overcast, misty day, in a car bound for the strip mall, which sits down in a valley, we found a spot three car lengths from the building and went inside so we could sign the forms and see the damage.
The only employee there, an older woman sitting across the desk from us, moaned and groaned and struggled to breathe. I asked if she were alright. She said she had emphysema and would be okay, but she had walked in from the parking lot and was out of breath.
Bill and I stole glances as she shuffled around the office mumbling, "Now where did I put that? Oh no, the printer is out of ink!" She hacked and coughed and then said, "Well, here's your last document that needs a signature."
I was so happy to autograph Uncle Sams documents and bolt out of there. I beat Bill to the door and said, "Honey, I don't want you going out in this storm and pouring rain. You stay here. I'll get the car."
The door closed behind me. I gulped fresh air and ran to the car.
Drenched, I punched in the numerical code on the door panel, and then stood there like a dripping wet fool when I realized HE HAD THE KEYS.
There Bill stood in the store front window laughing his dry self silly.
These are the days of MY life.