Still haven't made it out of the house. Have however shampooed all of the rugs and carpeting in this tiny, tiny home of ours. I'm pretending like it smells better for John's sake. "Doesn't it smell a hundred times better?" he asks me, dripping with sweat, his bald head covered in errant cat fur and lint balls. "Like a fucking rose garden, sugar-boog." I answer emphatically.