Page 35 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
“Well,” I say, ducking down to look in a cabinet, “I guess scientists can’t really do all their work from home. So if you’d still been working in the 2020s, you would have been spared the dreaded remote work.”
“You think so?” Gramps says thoughtfully. “I didn’t care for the office environment all that much. The kitchen always smelled like tuna fish. Do people still eat tuna fish sandwiches?”
“I wouldn’t know.” I stand on my tiptoes to check another cabinet, a sliver of panic creeping in. “Gramps, do you have a blender?”
“A blender? Of course!” He heaves himself out of his chair and opens the cabinet beneath the toaster, from which he extracts a boxy, yellowing blender with square buttons. He hands it to me with a proud smile.
“Osterizer,” I say. “Hey, didn’t we used to use this to make milkshakes when I was a kid?”
“Indeed! I bought this for Lottie for our tenth anniversary. Ordered it from the Sears catalog.”
“The Sears catalog? Wait, so have you had this blender since the 1970s?”
“Sure!”
I peer skeptically into the pitcher, half expecting to see a thick layer of dust.
“Okay… thanks.”
I load it up with my usual smoothie ingredients, plug it in, and press theBLENDbutton, which gives a satisfying click. The blender does not erupt into flames. It is, however, extremely loud, and after thirty seconds or so, it gives off a pungent odor of burning plastic.
“Oh my God,” I choke, pressing theOFFbutton. “When is the last time you used this thing?”
Gramps looks up from his paper unconcernedly. “Hmm? Oh, I don’t know. When was the last time we made you kids milkshakes?”
“What?”
“Or, no, wait, Lottie used it to make daiquiris once. That must have been around 2006, because it was when the Wilsons had their going-away party. So, 2006.”
I gaze sadly at my plastic-ified smoothie. “That was, like, almost twenty years ago.”
“Well, at least we haven’t worn it out.”
With the smell of burnt plastic in my nostrils, I can’t even bring myself to taste my smoothie. I pour it down the drain. My stomach rumbles.
I root around in the freezer, extract a loaf of bread, and pop two slices in the toaster. This feels like a negative omen of sorts. I never have toast before work. I always have a smoothie.
As I scrape some butter onto my toast, I glance at the microwave clock and let out a squeak. It’s almost ten thirty already. Time for my virtual yoga class. I cram the toast in my mouth, gulp down a small glass of orange juice—it’s heavy on the pulp—and try to find the optimal place to set up. I don’t have my yoga mat with me, but a blanket will work in a pinch.
I scoot the coffee table out of the way and spread a blanket in the middle of the living room. A sense of peace settles over me as my usual yoga instructor greets the class and starts moving through the flow. When I stretch into the first downward dog, I look between my legs and see Gramps standing there, watching me.
“Ah!” I yelp and crash down onto one elbow.
“Don’t stop on my account.” Gramps grins and settles onto the sofa with a mug of coffee.
“What are you—Gramps, I’m trying to—” I splutter.
“Is this yoga?”
“What—of course this is yoga. What else would it be?”
“Please, continue. I’m here to watch and learn.”
I look from him to the instructor on my screen. I’ve completely lost the flow. A part of me would very much like to tell him to give me some space, to go to another room for the next forty-five minutes, but I rein it in. After all, I am in his living room.
“Do you want to try?” I ask brightly, patting the blanket next to me.
“Me? Goodness, no.”
