RED building. Grey roof.
Red building. Slate roof.
Yellow building. Red roof.
"Do you always puzzle out loud?" I say to my husband early on Saturday morning.
There is no reply.
Sandstone building. Grey roof.
Red building. Slate roof.
Green tower. Red flag.
Red flag is a red rag to a bull in the seemingly passive sport of puzzling.
"Stop puzzling out loud!" I say, "I can't even hear myself puzzle!!"
There is still no reply.
He is in the jigsaw puzzle zone, all home alone!!
"YEEEEEESSSSSSSS!!!" he exclaims, as he fits another piece of the 1000-piece puzzle featuring iconic Danish buildings. (You may have already put together the theme going by the description of the pieces!)
My daughters helped me do the first 850 pieces of the giant puzzle since it had arrived in the post on the Thursday before the Easter long weekend.
The only exception was the top edge - a wonky skyline - which my husband fixed midweek when I pointed out the total shemozzle I'd made of it.
"I don't puzzle very pretty," I say.
"Puzzle pros would be absolutely appalled over my edges!
"But the middle is coming together just fine so I thought I'd come back and fix the sky later."
IN OTHER CORONAVIRUS NEWS:
Sandstone building. Grey roof. Red building. Slate roof. Green tower. Red flag. Red flag is a red rag to a bull in the seemingly passive sport of puzzling. "Stop puzzling out loud!" I say, "I can't even hear myself puzzle!!"
Back to present puzzle tense.
"YEEEEEESSSSSSSS!!!" my husband exclaims, as he again fits another piece of the puzzle.
"I know you're really missing the football," I say.
"No Swans, no Sharks, there's nothing left, right?"
"YEEEEEESSSSS! YOU LITTLE BEAUTY!!" my husband exclaims, as he once again fits another piece of the puzzle.
"OMG!" I say, "Do you know how many pieces I've fitted in the last 30 minutes without so much as a peep?
"What?" he says.
"Did you say something?"
It's horses for courses or different rules for different schools in the home since the COVID-19 pandemic changed the world as we knew it.
It would have been unimaginable in February to utter: "Stop puzzling out loud!"
However, the vernacular has changed!
Even marathon Monopoly games have taken a different turn.
Our 13-year-old New Zealand version is tried and true and a fraction funnier if played with a Kiwi accent; not unlike New Zealand Police's Facebook videos with the brilliant Wellington Paranormal crew (one of the social media highlights of the year!).
This time around the Monopoly board I don't even want to buy any of the real estate.
What is the point of acquiring Te Papa when museums aren't even open to the public now?!
I buy up all of the utilities instead but no airports.
When my nine-year-old lands on Community Chest with me, I shoo her along two spaces on account of new Monopoly social-distancing rules.
"Rubbish!" she says.
"Same family," she explains, before moving back two spaces.
With cash the least preferred form of payment in the outside world these days, Monopoly money feels sort of second-rate.
Regardless, I end up with stacks of dirty cash on account of not buying much of anything across the board. I can't add apartments or hotels (previously known as houses and motels) without a single set.
When I try to wrap up the game after a week, no one is keen as they've all developed their properties. (There is a small chance this game will outlive the pandemic!)
When we finish the giant puzzle with fanfare and fist-pumping on Saturday morning, we realise our youngest is not yet up for the day. We quickly pull out 20 pieces so she too can know the proper joy of fitting the final piece of the puzzle.
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