Okaaaaaaaaaay

Woke up feeling once again shittier than the floor of a parrot's cage and, given the warnings of morons like Ontario Premier Doug Ford (aka Naughty Noo-Noo, the most dickish teletubby) assumed I had Covid. Becauwse, no tests, you know....

The only issue is that suspecting you have Covid and not being able to prove it provides exactly the same headaches (metaphorically) as having Covid: not least of these is the 10 (today reduced to 7) day isolation period.

So, with this in mind, I rifled through Ottawacker Jr.'s schoolbag (dreading what I might find - what don't 8-year-old do these days?) and managed to come across the Covid-testing kit his school had sent home in the halcyon days of pre-Omicron doom.

"Do you mind...?" I asked. Fortunately, his head is in his Christmas Xbox, so he didn't hear. I therefore helped myself to one of his five tests.

My God, you need a PhD in algebra to read this shit. "Turn nozzle X to 35 degrees and insert tube Y in your anus until it becomes 19 degrees centigrade. Not 20. If it reaches 20, you have to start again. Then insert in your nose. NOT THE TUBE, Take the swab out of the tube first and then insert in your nose. Have you swirled it in liquid P? If not, remove from nose, recycle in your nearest BIOHAZARD RECYCLING CENTRE (but don't leave the house) and start again."

Somehow it got done. Although the temptation to test Ottawacker Jr. and say I was OK was almost unbearable. In the end I did it, waited the requisite 15 minutes, and found out I was pregnant. Well how the frig did that happen? I sense a chill forming on the Mrs. Ottawacker front.

Anyway, the Covid test was negative - but I still feel like someone has had a party in my head and turned my stomach to liquid nitrogen. I'm pretty sure this isn't normal. With this in mind, I eschewed the party our new neighbours had invited us to - outdoors, with masks provided and drinks through straws - and sat next to Mrs. Ottawacker, herself huddled and gnarled in pain from the freak sledding accident of earlier in the week, and sent Ottawacker Jr. round with his hazmat kit on to inform the neighbours.

The I looked at Mrs. Ottawacker, looked at my empty glass of whisky, and thought to myself, "what an incredibly shit year this has been."

Here's to a better and healthier and happier 2022.  Happy New Year.