If Corona Doesn't Take You Out, Can I?


You finally reached that elusive goal. Three years at university of sub-par sex and drunken one-night stands and, just as you’re about to hand in your dissertation and receive a square of paper asserting your intelligence, you might, finally, be on the cusp of a serious relationship. He’s fit, replies to your messages and your mum thinks he’s reliable. 

Oh but wait. What’s that? A global pandemic later and your sister has resumed making jokes about how you will forever be single. 


Because suddenly, that oh so familiar limbo of are-we-exclusive/are-we-not has been interrupted by social-distancing and nationwide lockdown. 

It’s not all bad. You’re facetimeing five times a day, staring at each other longingly through phone screens and hearing him state how he’s realised, in this self-reflective time, just how important you might be to him. You’re feeling validated, desired, possibly a little bit smug. 

You schedule those facetime calls with the commitment you never gave to weekly lectures, whispering sweet nothings down the line because there is literally nothing else to say. My allocated daily walk was good, thank you, how was yours? 

It sucks, you’re horny, torturing each other with unfulfilled desire but secretly enjoying the drama of it all. In another life you were a tragic heroine, and this love story has all the angst of the chickflicks you’re currently binge watching in your bedroom. Lovers kept apart by society’s rapid demise. 

But then, the doubt creeps in. Will he still like me in a week? Two weeks? Do I look fit enough over facetime? Has he rediscovered tinder? Has he fallen in love with his next-door neighbour? I bet she’s fit, Victoria Secret model fit. When my roots begin to show and my eyebrows morph into baby bushes, will he still want me for just what God gave me?

And you’re wondering if you should sext because a Cosmopolitan article you read last week talked about the importance of maintaining erotic connection in a relationship but frankly you haven’t shaved and you don’t know what angle you’d do and when you tried you fell off the bed because, it turns out, your hips don’t bend that way.

But, then, you pull yourself together and decide to live by the words of your favourite all-time heroine. “after all, tomorrow is another day” Scarlet O’Hara once remarked and calm is, if temporarily, once more restored.


- By Anonymous



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