Usually with Boomer Humor, there's a since that the bickering couples really do love each other, and that all of the insults and complaints have a level of playful irony.

I don't get that sense here. Everything about this scene projects a sense of hopeless. Look how the branch outside looks ready to collapse under the pressure of the rain. Notice the calendar on the wall, a reminder that everyday here is and will always be, the same. See how the ceiling extends out of the frame, far higher than any normal ceiling, as though this room was not built to be lived in. The house, already cramped, is dominated by the woman's husband, gut sagging and hair unkempt. Unlike him, she is well-dressed, she is even wearing a necklace, and has a purse in her lap. Where is she planning on going? Where, in this time of corona, could she have to go?

I think she wants to go anywhere, anywhere by here. The woman is the only bright spot in this picture, as though she's trying to hold on to the last bits of who she was, before she married this man, before she came into this gloomy, hopeless place.

She not wearing the mask because she doesn't want to look at him. She's wearing the mask because she doesn't want him to see her cry.