Tom and Tina’s relationship never was the same after the Great Quarantine of 2020. At first, her lil jigsaw puzzle habit was adorable, assembling the Eiffel Tower over strawberry crepes and French toast, the Hollywood Sign whilst snacking on churros and sipping horchata or cobbling up the state of Florida over a brunch of pamplemousse La Croix, deluxe-sized Slim Jims and a wicker platter of fresh methberries, plucked from the backyard of a blended family of semi-professional wrestlers. Then, slowly but surely, all the time that Tom and Tina spent together began to somehow multiply exponentially, hours turning into days turning into weeks turning into late night arguments over laundry and the dishwasher and whether or not they should foster a kitten and name it Larry.
The entire marriage came to a head over a couple bowls of New England-style clam chowder. Tina had purchased the bowls after several Bloody Marys at a antique farmers market in Santa Fe, New Mexico on one of her many Ladies Trips. After Tina and her troop of friends left the Target parking lot (which hosted the antique farmers market every Thursday from 3-7 pm beginning the week of the first day of Spring and ending the week of Halloween, sponsored by Ralph’s Pizzeria and Ice Cream Shoppe: If it ain’t Ralph’s, we ain’t buyin’), the executive director of the market, Tammi Woodbury, banned large groups of eight or more middle-aged women from attending the weekly market or as the local weirdos like to call it Cougar Country.
“How’s your chowdah, honey bunny?” Tina asked her beau.
“Same as it always tastes...every Tuesday night for the past eleven years.” Tom snapped back.
“I like New England-style clam chowder. It reminds me of when we watched our favorite movie, Fever Pitch, for the first time together. We had both seen it at least twenty times before but none were sweeter than that first time we saw it together and decided to get matching Red Sox tattoos on our butt cheeks even though we’re just a couple kids from North Carolina and the closest thing we had to professional baseball was when Cousin Stanley got a few too many moonshine shoeys in him and he would take a baseball bat and start whackin’ trees down in the backyard like he was on some of that Rambo shit.”
“I forgot how much I love you, woman. Now let’s watch clips of Jimmy Fallon’s late night show on YouTube and get housed. You in?”
“Hell yeah, babe, you know you married a rockstar, babe.”
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