I am falling apart.

I have butt sores from being a midday couch potato and my feet are now E width from standing in the kitchen and cooking for hours.

My thighs resemble a speed skater from hiking and Pilating.

My nails are as colorless as the frozen tundra of Lambeau Field.

My eyelashes are in naked lockdown and as with Major League Baseball, haven’t batted since spring training.

My hair is getting so long that I can totally relate to Rapunzel who has provided inspiration for a  new escape route when self-quarantining begins to cause self-loathing and I have to get out!!

The skin on my hands is deteriorating from washing 20 times a day for 20 seconds each time.

My vocal chords are strained from singing Happy Birthday during every hand washing.

My face is exhausted from excessive attention and hyaluronic acid and the invasion of Augustinus Bader.

My boobs will scream in protest when the time comes to squeeze them into a regular bra after months of lollygagging about in a Lululemon sports garment.

My waist will rebel when forced into a controlled jeans waistband situation.

My Louboutins will never see the light of day as Nike is now my designer of choice.

I guess I will need to shelter-in-place for the rest of my life.

Please just leave my groceries at the front door.

Toilet paper, paper towels, Clorox wipes and Chopin Vodka are very much appreciated.