Living in Paradise

The Covid Crapshoot

The Covid Crapshoot

I was bemused to see that Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez came down with a case of Covid shortly after visiting the free state of Florida and partying without a mask. I’m no fan, but I wish her well. Even a mild case is no picnic.

I can’t say I blame her for not wanting to wear a face-covering. Girls just want to have fun, you know. And Florida is the best place to do that as long as you leave your politics in New York, honey.

Many of my friends are “so over it” and have been for some time, which is why a few of them have recently been infected with the unyielding virus and refused to get tested because they were certain they had the flu or a cold. I call it Covid denial.

The problem is that we aren’t over it, which is why I’m keeping a mask in my purse and avoiding crowds wherever possible.

After being vaccinated, suffering from breakthrough Covid in August and getting an infusion of monoclonal antibodies, then being boosted the first of December, I’m guessing I’m still not safe. Still, there is this need for life to go on.

So, it was with some trepidation that my man and I attended a New Year’s Eve party at the home of dear friends and rampant anti-vaxxers. They had Covid early on, gave it to a few friends at a birthday party and are convinced they are immune forever. Maybe they are. Who knows? Call me skeptical.

The party started at 6:30 and the food was sumptuous: fresh-caught grouper, shrimp off the boat from earlier that day, lobster from Maine. I could have stayed there all night stuffing my face and chatting with people I hadn’t seen for a long time. But about 8 p.m. a whole new crowd arrived. Young, enthusiastic and unknown to me.

“Where have they been?” I said to my man.

“I think we need some fresh air,” he responded. We walked outside and headed for our car.

The next day several of the people at the New Year’s Eve party celebrated at a neighbor’s house. He had also been at the party the night before and spoke at length with me and my man. We weren’t invited to his home but apparently the Omicron variant was. It seems that many of the folks that avoided the Covid on New Year’s Eve got it the next day, including the host.

“Weren’t you lucky,” my friend said as she related the story to me about the second party.

‘Holy moly,” was all I could think to say in response. I guess we were fortunate, but I felt bad for my friends.

This morning I headed for the new condo that we’ve been remodeling since June. When I arrived, the construction manager was standing next to one of the workers in front of the kitchen cabinets. When he saw me, he put his hand out: “Don’t come too close, I’m not feeling well.”

We all shrank back and covered our mouths. When he left, an uproar erupted.

“What the hell was he doing standing so close to me?” one of the workers demanded.

“Yeah, if I’m sick, I stay home,” another said.

We passed around a battle of hand sanitizer and joined in taking an antiseptic bath of the clear liquid. Not that any of us thought it would do any good, I suspect. But we had to do something.

Here we are. Wanting desperately to be normal. To party like AOC. And realizing all the time that, despite everything, we are still dealing with the Covid crapshoot. Enough now.

 

 

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