“I can do this,” I sighed, as I cleared off my desk to try to negotiate a COVID-19 home test.
Suspicious symptoms had started the night before prompting me to attempt to figure out how to use the test. It wasn’t going well. I thought I was having problems following the instructions because I was so tired, but maybe I’m just not that smart.
My brother, who lives in Las Vegas, had called to say he was sure he could walk me through the test on the phone. Since we share the same offbeat gene for making things seem harder than they need to be, I thought it was worth a shot. Having tested himself many times, he had a handle on the things that might trip me up.
“Can I take the test in bed?” I asked, wondering if I needed a large tabletop space.
“Oh no, you have to take it in the living room, standing up,” smart-aleck little brother responded.
Since no one could visit me until we determined whether or not I had Covid, I was getting messages of support from my inner circle.
“Oh no, Mom, are you strong enough to feed Lark? And I don’t even want to know what’s going on with her litter box,” the caring daughter texted.
“Did someone say food?” Lark meowed, leaping onto my desk and sitting on the test kit. “I’m sorry you’re sick but let’s get real, I haven’t eaten in over an hour.”
After all this comfort, I was finally ready to take the test. Having already broken several fingernails and bent my letter opener trying to open the box, I was beginning to think if you’re strong enough to ace this task, it means you don’t have Covid and you can dispense with the rest of the directions.
“Hey, sis, you’re doing great; you got the box open,” smart-aleck brother cooed in a tone one might use to talk someone off a ledge.
“And why are you moaning?” he asked. “We haven’t even started the test yet.”
“I just wheeled my desk chair over my bare toe.”
“You won’t need your toe for the test.”
Somehow we struggled to the finish line, which was pink. I have Covid. Without smart-aleck, I might never have known. I really owe him an apology for being so disappointed that he wasn’t a little sister.
Email Patricia at patriciabunin@sbcglobal.net. Follow her on Twitter @PatriciaBunin and at PatriciaBunin.com.
