50 Shades of Covid

An ode to romance in the pandemic years

I completely forgot that I wrote this. An ode to love and romance doing the pandemic. A reader reminded me of it the other day, so I thought I’d re-run it for you.

Enjoy …

SHE slowly slipped her mask down and removed her gloves.

She removed her second mask.

That was as far as they would go this time. The other three layers would have to wait, though the temptation to tear them off made both of them ache with longing. Or maybe the aches were from Covid. It was hard to tell since love, Covid and the common cold all felt so alike.

She was naughtier than him. He still had his five masks on.

Feeling guilty, they ended the Zoom call, but determined to meet in person as soon as their State Premier would allow it.

Weeks later they met in person, just before curfew. He gently caressed her vaccine patch, and whispered in her ear, “What are your pronouns?”

“I’m non-binary,” she replied, her heart beating faster.

Was it love?

Or was it the effects of her Pfizer shot?

She couldn’t be sure.

She could see he was still fully masked. And she loved him for it.

“We’re in this together,” he told her as he mumbled something about flattening the curve.

Her natural immunity was no defence against his seductive charm. She reached for the hand sanitizer.

“Is that a vaccine passport in your hazmat suit? Or are you just happy to see me?” she asked playfully, creeping within 1.5m of him.

The smell of sanitizer filled the air.

They could no longer resist one another. Suddenly she surged toward him, breaching the social distancing rules with wanton abandon and yet, with an abundance of caution.

The rapid antigen test in his top pocket pressed against her breast. Her heart was racing, like acute myocarditis.

They began to bump elbows, slowly at first and then with increasing fury.

He wanted to kiss her. But he was understandably nervous. Lockdown had dented his confidence. And besides, Omicron was wildly contagious.

Popping an Ivermectin pill for courage, he pulled a swab from his pocket and, looking at her with longing eyes, asked:

“Mind if I insert this in your nostril? The RAT test will give us a result within 10 minutes. It’s very effective.”

“Say it again,” he begged him. “Say it again.”

“Can I swab you?” he repeated, over and over until she swooned.  

Or maybe it was a stroke.

He couldn’t tell.

He suddenly felt giddy.

It was love.

It could also have been a blood clot. He wouldn’t know for a few weeks.

Who even cared? This was the new normal. And it was wonderful.

It was then that he noticed her droopy eye.

“Are you boosted?” he asked.

“This is not my first jab, if that’s what you’re asking,” she told him softly.

“If only we could be together,” he lamented.

And then, getting down on one knee and looking deep into her Bells Palsy affected face, he found the courage to finally ask her: “Will you do me the honour of becoming my government sanctioned bubble buddy? To isolate and to lockdown from this day forward?”

She could not have loved him more in that moment.

She was breathless. Maybe from delight, maybe from Delta.

But if this was the ‘new normal’, she wanted more.

She ran her hands over his chest. He was tall and strong and muscular. She was sure she felt a spike protein through his shirt.

Then suddenly a Covid Marshall sprang out of nowhere and pulled out a measuring tape.

“1.5 metres is plenty close enough,” the marshall insisted, quickly placing a protective plastic shield between them.

“Staying apart keeps you together.

In that moment they realised they had been so busy checking each other out that they had forgotten to check in with their QR codes!

Waves of guilt flooded over them. They had put lives at risk. And for what? An elbow bump? A fleeting glimpse of the other without a mask?

They resolved never to meet again. It simply wasn’t safe.

(Let me know how the story finishes in the comments)