Living with Covid

The doorbell rang.


It was Dr. Anthony Fauci. I knew this wouldn’t be good.


“I’m here to tell you that you’re going to have to live with Covid,” he said. “It’s going to be with us for a while.”


“You and Covid, or just Covid?” I asked.


“Uh, well, yeah, maybe both of us.”


“What about the variants, you know, Alpha, Beta, Delta, Omicron and that new weird one Omicron ba.2?”


“Yeah, them too,” Fauci replied sheepishly.


“And just how long is this ‘while’?”


“Um, uh, how old are you?”


“Stop pussyfooting around, just spit it out will you,” I demanded.


“Jeez, keep a lid on it, ok? Probably the rest of your life. I thought you’d want to know so you could start figuring out where to put us.”


“Fine!” I spit. “You better come in for a quick tour. Let’s go upstairs and I’ll show you what I’m already living with.”


I took him to the guest bedroom. The one I used to use for houseguests back in 2019BC (before Covid).


“Looks like there’s plenty of space in here,” Fauci posited.


“Look a little closer,” I responded. “Under the bed I’ve got the Ukrainian crisis. There’s at least 100,000 troops down there with the dust bunnies, not to mention the tanks and fighter jets. They keep asking me to turn up the heat, although I don’t blame them for that. The duvet is lumpy because Rat-eyed Putin, Kim Jong Un and the Ayatollah are having pillow fights under there.”


“We’re walking, ok? Follow me.”


I opened the door to the closet.


“No room in here either. See this plastic clothing bag? It’s hermetically sealed to keep Russia’s melting tundra from infecting the atmosphere with defrosting Anthrax spores. And this carefully duct taped box on the shelf? It’s a Woolly Mammoth that was freeze dried in the Pleistocene Era (ask your grandkids). If it gets wet, the Woolly will be life size in a couple weeks and who knows what deadly viruses it’s hiding.”


“Boy, you really do have a lot to live with,” said Tony. (We are now best buddies).


“Ha, keep moving,” I said. “See this hand carved antique dresser on the wall? You’ll love this. The top drawer I had to divide into two halves. These are the oldies but goodies. On the left, every Democrat still in office who will be over 80 this year. Pelosi, Biden, Sanders, Feinstein, Leahy and the rest of the boys in the band. The right side is the ancient Republicans: Grassley, Shelby, Inhofe, McConnell. I tried to dump them in with the Democrats but Mitch said absolutely no way in hell.”


“Further down I’ve got the old sports GOATS and entertainment icons. Federer, Serena, Nadal, Novax, Aaron Rogers, Tom Brady, Kim Kardashian, Fabio, Kanye West: the list goes on.”


“Brady, what’s Brady doing in there?” Tony asked.


“Look, it’s time, ok? Real GOATS know when to call it quits. These new teams are going to out-Brady Brady. Leave on a high note,” I said.


“Oh, you have a lot on your plate,” Tony said.


“We aren’t done yet, Tony. See this drawer with the padlock? Bad juju in there. I’ve managed to corral Marjorie Taylor Green, Matt Gaetz, Madison Cawthorn, Ted Cruz, Rand Paul, Guiliani, Mark Meadows and that ditzy Sidney Powell. I just hope the lock holds until the January 6 Committee comes by to pick them up.”


“Rand Paul?” Tony piped. “Oh yeah, that’s a good one. You’re living with him too?”


“We all are, Tony. I’m just trying to help out.”


“What’s that little bitty drawer over there?” he asked. “Couldn’t you slide Covid in there?”

“No. That’s reserved for memes, tropes, non-binary pronouns, Twitter, Zoom and Melania’s white hat.”


Tony was determined to find a spot for Covid. “What’s in here?” he asked as he opened the door to the ensuite bathroom.


“Careful!” I called. “Shield your eyes! Liz Cheney’s in there. The golden aura of her halo could blind you. Use sunglasses.”


“Tony, let’s go downstairs, I think you’ve seen enough.” I started to drag him toward the stairs but he slipped out of my grasp and pulled open the door to a hallway closet I’d been avoiding.


“No, Tony, no!” I cried. Too late. There was a huge BAM! And a massive airbag filled the room, spraying off a cloud of white powder.


“What’s that,” he screamed.


“It’s INFLATION Tony!” You just blew it. Now it’s everywhere. I’ve been living without it for years, hoping it was dead. But no, now the cat’s out of the bag. Thanks a ton Tony.”


“Wait,” he said. “I get why you don’t want to live with Covid anymore. But where are you hiding Donald Trump?”


“Tony, I don’t know about you but there are some things I just can’t live with.”


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