An argument

What counts as a "real job"?

Mike grabbed a beer from the fridge and walked outside to the backyard. He sat down and cracked open his dry-hopped, bright and citrusy IPA. He felt sun on his face for the first time in ages. He heard birds chirping and the neighbour’s kids playing next door. He closed his eyes and tried to forget he was living through a global pandemic.

He was brought back to life by the chirp of an iPhone. He opened his eyes to see his wife Michelle taking his photo.

“What are you doing?”

“You looked so cute,” she said, examining the photo she had just taken. “Let’s take a selfie.” Michelle sat in Mike’s lap, held up the camera and smiled. “Why aren’t you smiling?”

Mike slightly raised the corners of his mouth.

“Okay, let’s do a video now.”

“A video of what?”

“A video of us enjoying this beautiful weather!”

“I don’t want to be in a video.”

“Oh come on! I always get really high engagement when you’re in videos with me. I want to post this on my Insta stories.”

Michelle held the phone up again.

“Hey guys! Just wanted to pop on here and say hi!” Michelle grabbed the beer out of Mike’s hand and held it up to the camera. “We’re enjoying the first sunny day after being cooped up for so long! Say hi Mike!”

“Hi, I’m Mike. I’d like to share my thoughts on the Flat Earth Movement.”

“Mike! What are you doing? I can’t post that!”

“I told you, I don’t want to be in your videos! I’m just trying to enjoy some peace and quiet.” Mike closed his eyes. Pretending to sleep was his favourite way to avoid an argument.

“Stop pretending to sleep Mike,” Michelle said, still sitting on his lap. “This is my job. It would be nice if my husband could support my career.”

“Instagram is not a career,” Mike said, eyes still closed.

Michelle stood up, blocking the sun. He waited a few seconds, hoping she would do an Instagram video with their dog instead. Finally he opened his eyes to see her standing in front of him, taking a swig from his beer.

“Instagram is a legitimate career,” she said. “Kylie Jenner makes one million dollars for a sponsored post.”

“Kylie Jenner has millions of followers! You have four hundred!”

“I have four hundred and fifty!” she said, storming into the house.

Mike closed his eyes again. He could hear Michelle in the kitchen. He thought about apologizing. At least Michelle was trying to do something. Even though it was stupid. It was better than what he was doing. Living off credit cards and CERB and hoping for a miracle.

After a few minutes he got up and went back inside to patch things up. She had made margaritas, his favourite drink. She was pouring them into glasses and filming it on her iPhone.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry I said Instagram isn’t a career.”

“Hold this,” she said, handing him one of the margaritas. She grabbed the other one and took a selfie of the two of them smiling and holding their drinks.

“Thanks,” she said. She grabbed the drink from his hand, walked to the sink and dumped it down the drain. She walked outside with her drink and went live on Instagram.

“Hey guys! Just wanted to jump on here and say hi! Who else is enjoying this beautiful weather?”