Greetings From the Magical Kingdom of Covidia!

My wife went on a business trip to Arizona and all I have to show for it is this lousy case of Covid. I would've much rather received a seashell, or a snow-globe, or even an "I'm With Stupid" T-shirt.

After four years of careful masking, vaxxing and distancing, I really thought we were gonna escape the plague. It wasn't so. As a matter of fact, two days before I succumbed, a friend of mine said, "I can't believe you guys haven't gotten it yet." Thanks a lot, "friend," for the jinx.

I suppose I should be grateful we didn't get it in the early days of the pandemic, before vaccines and boosters. Back then getting Covid was a terrifying (close to) death knell. That same friend I mentioned earlier suffered through Covid for four months in the beginning. FOUR MONTHS!

That's hard to fathom. My week of misery seemed horrible enough, walking around coughing until my chest felt hollow and sore like a rock 'n roll tapeworm was pounding a drum from inside. Single-handedly, we kept the Kleenex industry in business. While my sense of taste hadn't vanished, certain foods tasted...funny. Chicken Tortilla Soup was similar to throat-burning barf. Coke Zero tasted like metal, a sort of Coke Zero, Zero, Zero Squared. Wolfing down salted caramel cookies was like gnawing cardboard (yet oddly enough, my wife and I craved sweets throughout the illness).

And I never thought I'd get sick of watching TV. It's true! It can happen. In a high-pitch of fever, I watched an entire season of "Love Is Blind," some trash-heap of "reality" on Netflix that my daughter recommended (hey, thanks a lot!). And none of it made sense, nor do I remember a lick of it (possibly my subconscious preserving my sanity). 

During the first days of my week-long bout, fever dreams attacked with a fiery passion. I dreaded going to sleep because I knew I'd soon get back to work trying to cram a triangular block into a circular hole and not being able to understand why it wouldn't fit. Over and over and over...

Gone were the days of sympathy and empathy and pity and maybe even a little fear. When I'd tell people over the phone (struggling with my voice that had turned into an almost indecipherable frog croak), their response was "Oh, is this your first time?" or  "Yeah, when I had it, it wasn't any big deal really," or "That sucks. Say, did you see the new season of 'Love Is Blind?'"

Yet I wanted people to pamper me, bring me soup, shed a few tears, ask what they could do. Instead, my Covid bout was treated as a "been there, done that" situation. It's become commonplace, at worst an annoyance, and why the hell haven't you gotten it before now?

At least my wife was kinda pleased I had no voice for four days. 

I was even worried my dogs would get it. Stupidly, the day before I fell victim, I was eating a cup of chicken noodle soup and my dogs seemed interested. So, I took a few noodles, sucked off all the spices (being careful, after all), then fed them to my four-legged pals. Two days later when I got sick, I got all over Google trying to find out if I'd polluted our pets. I told my daughter my fears. Her takeaway? "Ohhhh, I see. So you get mad when my dog eats your food off your plate, but you think it's cute when Mr. Loomis eats your noodles. You are a hypocrite."

Whaaaaaa? I have Covid! Leave me alone!

Yes, Covidia is a magical place. It's a place of unreality, sprinkled with magical fairy dust that gets inside your head and lungs and makes you see things that aren't there. It's like Disneyland for grownups, heavy on the acid, but a lot cheaper. (But don't tell DeSantis that; he'll declare war on Covid. Wait...too late. He's already called it a "woke pandemic." Whatever the hell THAT'S supposed to mean. Tell it to the surviving loved ones of the million people who died from it, Ron.) 

Anyway, I'm on the waning days of residing in the Magical Kingdom of Covidia and I can't wait to leave the illness-ridden golden gates behind, once and for all. Yet, I just read that there's a new strain heading our way. I guess it might be a bit too early to defect just yet.

Speaking of "vacationing" in unpleasant places, you might want to stay away from the Dandy Drop Inn, a quaint yet deadly Missouri bed & breakfast. What? You like a challenge? Then your dream trip awaits you right here! That's Dread and Breakfast, axe for it by name!