The Novel Coronavirus (SARS-CoV-2)
I was about midway through eating a popsicle when I realized I didn’t really know what it tasted like. Do these have a flavor? I called up the stairs to C., who was out in the land of the living while I, a leper, was confined to the basement.
What are you talking about? he asked.
I meant, like, literally, does it taste like anything? If pressed, I would’ve said vaguely sweet, but otherwise: absolutely nada. The memory of a popsicle. Popsicle, as an abstract concept. I’m sorry, we’re having trouble reaching popsicle. Please try again later.
It’s mango, C. said. Well, shit.
I made it 1,277 days, so it was my time, I guess. If anything, it’s probably best to have been disabused of my bordering-on-superstitious belief that I was entirely immune, untouchable, a god among men. I was at about a 12 on the Rina Scale for a day-and-a-half, maybe a 6 for a day or so more, and otherwise feeling fine and watching an excessive amount of Girls. Lucky, glad to be over it, and I hope to break my record of 1,277 days of not having Covid. Big money, big money, no whammies.
Also happy to report that my ability to taste and smell things returned a few days later. I can now confirm these popsicles are actually good.