I got COVID for Christmas
I had no idea I was on Santa’s naughty list. After all, I’m not THAT bad of kid.
How much trouble can a 72-yearold kid get into? I no longer beat up my brothers, tattle on my sisters or talk back to my parents.
Santa didn’t put coal in my Christmas stocking. Rather, he gave me COVID for Christmas. I kid you not. I got my positive test result at 11:50 Christmas night.
Suffice it to say, I’m not leaving any cookies or eggnog for Santa next year.
So much for being double vaccinated and boosted. So much for wearing a mask more than the Lone Ranger. So much for scrubbing your hands more than a surgeon. What the Fauci is going on here?
Oh, that’s right. Omicron just does an end run around all the shots. It’s more contagious than dandelions in the spring. But not as contagious as the Black Death plague in the medieval ages that nearly annihilated Europe.
Granted, my positive COVID result was not a surprise. I had developed a bad cold and moderate flu symptoms a couple days prior to Christmas.
Since we were having our two sons and daughters-in-law (no need to specify it was two daughters-in-law since we’re not Mormons) along with our five grandchildren for Christmas dinner, I thought it prudent to get tested.
We canceled the family Christmas celebration when my nose sprung a bigger leak than Hoover Dam with a gigantic hole in it. I went through three trees’ worth of Kleenexes.
Remember how low Jimmy Stewart was when things went south for George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life? That’s how I felt. And my nose couldn’t have been sorer if I had jammed it in a light socket.
Compounding matters, I likely infected our one son and his wife earlier in the week when I had yet to develop symptoms.
Fortunately our son developed no symptoms (it’s less clumsy to merely write he was asymptomatic but I have trouble spelling it) and our daughter-in-law just had a slight cold.
Thank God I didn’t give COVID to their two children (also known as our grandchildren). And talk about a Christmas miracle. My wife tested negative and never developed symptoms even though we were together 24/7.
Of course, we’ve been married 48 years so it’s not that we get thisclose together. If we were on our honeymoon, it would have been a lock that she would’ve tested positive.
Needless to say, my wife and I couldn’t go to church on Christmas. So we watched Christmas Mass on television. I confess it was rather comfortable to attend virtual church services while lying in bed. A guy could get used to that.
My wife and I had Christmas dinner alone. We opted for grilled cheese sandwiches because there was no way we were going to eat an eight-pound ham ourselves and develop bigger bellies than Santa. That ham is in the freezer, awaiting a belated Christmas family dinner this month.
Not only was Christmas a drag, but the requisite quarantine period wiped out getting together for New Year’s Eve (our other son’s birthday) and New Year’s Day.
Once again, my wife and I dined alone on New Year’s Day. We were going to have pork and sauerkraut. But my wife noticed a hole in the pork packaging. Nobody wants to eat potentially contaminated pork because ingesting listeria is no holiday treat.
So we pretended it was the Fourth of July and opted for hot dogs instead.
So much for Happy Holidays.
And Bah Humbug to you Santa Claus.
So much for being double vaccinated and boosted. So much for wearing a mask more than the Lone Ranger. So much for scrubbing your hands more than a surgeon. What the Fauci is going on here?