by Carrie Friedman

Like most people, I’ve hated the quarantine since the beginning. In mid-March, around my birthday, I longed to go out and celebrate: karaoke maybe, dancing definitely. I imagined donning a cute pencil skirt and kitten heels, paired with a band teeshirt or something else that’s rock ‘n roll and makes me look (or, let’s be honest, feel) younger than I am. But I couldn’t go out, because we were under house arrest. I spent my birthday scrolling through Instagram and drinking champagne from a can, making a birthday wish that our country will have beaten this pandemic before my AARP card arrives…