Today was supposed to be the first day of my Easter Holiday plan. This is how it should’ve unfolded.
I’d find my way to the city of Venice. I’d take a boat ride on the canals that twist and turn around the city, dipping my hands in the water, calling swans and ducks my way and playing with dolphins to enhance my touristy experience.
I’d then head to Florence, a city where culture and history live together. I’d breath in the air and explore the architectural genius of this city. This place would remind me of Florence, a girl on whom I never had a crush.
My next leg would be to Pisa. I’d stand under the sunny sky and delight in the moderate breeze. I’d take a picture at the Leaning Tower of Pisa. And there, I’d eat pizza.
I’d then think of whether to go to Milan or Rome. Being catholic, I’d be tempted to go to Rome. But Milan would call my name.
Then Covid_19 happened. The plan has crumbled. And I’ve stayed in my studio apartment resting my head on a cushion, this laptop on my laps, knees bent and my legs pushing on the arm of the couch.
What will I do this Easter? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll read children’s jokes from “The Big Book Of Silly Jokes For Kids.” I found it on Kindle.
What did the nose say to the finger?
“Quit picking on me!”
Who’s the queen of the pencil case?
What else did the picture say to the wall?
“Help! I’ve been framed.”