Quarantine has officially taken cabin fever to an entirely new level. After only two weeks, stay at home orders are beginning to trigger high school FOMO while grounded. To balance the binge-snacking and recycled POPSUGAR workouts on YouTube, I’ve found imagining life Post-Corona to be most helpful medicine. I get it, most people will likely want to start by dipping the their toe back in to the world of travel. Then it hit me, what better way to test the waters than with a stay-cation. And honestly, after all of the time spent indoors, DC is already starting to feel like a big backyard I never get to play in.

My heart is set on a weekend getaway to The Riggs Hotel (formerly known as the Riggs National Bank.) I can see it now, leaving an afternoon stroll through The National Portrait Gallery heading a few blocks away to grab my keys from the teller counter checkin desk. I’ll likely have booked one of the four First Lady suites as a silent ode to Michelle herself. While the concierge is explaining the best way to the elevator, I’ll be busy praying to Juno Moneto, the Roman goddess of money on the medallion atop the vaulted ceilings.

Before they can even bring my bags upstairs, I’ll be walking across the bathroom’s Italian marble floors in the complimentary slippers and robe holding whatever bubbly I could find in the carefully curated mini bar (which doubles as a 19th century safe.) Just before sunset, I’ll slip into a navy silk dress something that will catch the glow of the sensual elevator lighting that whisks me up to the rooftop. There, I’ll meet meet a few friends and take in the view of the Capitol and together, we’ll let out a sigh of relief because social distancing will be long behind us. Downstairs at dinner, we’ll order one of everything on the menu at the brasserie, Cafe Riggs before kissing Chef Patrick himself.