I have Covid. This was to be the part where i write a flowery introduction with hilarious anecdotes and pithy asides, but I sort of feeling like a a truck has hit me, and not in a good way.

And so we cut to the chase. The ton of bricks arrived last night. Mo pulled out her trusty leftover Covid test. Positive.

But it was pretty old, dating back to those bygone days of quarantines and disco balls and bellbottom jeans. Lordy, I miss bellbottom jeans.

So Mo bought some new tests. The first one was positive, but it might have just been following along with the previous one. And then, the third test:

Positive.

This might explain why it feel like I have Covid. Sometimes the answer is staring you right in the face, but you’re coughing and your nose is stuffy.

What to do? We texted the doctor.

The first doctor said “Who are you and how did you get this number,” never a good sign. And so than we texted my second doctor, whom I have never met.

Apparently never meeting me is the key. Lesson learned.

And that is how we obtained Paxlovid, the Magic Covid Drug.

Mo rushed to the nearby pharmacy to pick it up.

And then.

She sends me a message asking if I had a coupon. I have a vague memory of a Chipotle 2 for 1 deal, but I assume it would not work here.

She seems a bit panicked.

Ummmm, how much does it cost, I ask.

A lot, she says.

How much, I repeat.

A lot, she says again.

Yes, but how much?

A lot.

Exactly how much?

A lot.

The genius here is that I’m in bed all day and could continue this for hours and hours. Apparently she cannot.

I drag the tattered remains of my body to the computer and pull up the pharmacy website. It’s only three pills, two times a day for five days. How much could that possibly cost?

A lot.

I stare at the price. $1,800 and change, if people still accept change these days. EIGHTEEN HUNDRED FREAKING DOLLARS FOR THIRTY PILLS. In the words of the prophet Brendan Moeller in his youth, “Let me die!!!!!”

I begin looking through discount pages but find myself at Etsy searching for bellbottoms.

I go back to the website and refresh. It’s good to be refreshed when you have Covid. The new price Mo had negotiated: $750.

I breathe a sign of relief. And then start screaming SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY FREAKING DOLLARS!!!!

I was almost certain that the cost of prescription drugs has plummeted recently, so this was quite a shock.

I call her, pleading that she make a run for the exit. She says she’s busy.

A few minutes later, I see the updated cost. ZERO!!!

Apparently Mo signed up with a “government” website run by a guy named Rocco that requires us to give them our firstborn child. I ask Mo which cat is older. They both point at each other.

And so I now have a Free Wonder Drug that will surely cure me overnight. Although I will wake up at midnight to see if it already happened.

Mo comes home with two bags. One is mine, one is hers.

This one is chocolate, she says.

Best 20 bucks we ever spent.

Maybe we’ll have enough leftover for a mirror ball.