Whenever people on the street stop and ask me how long I think this novel coronavirus is going to last, I look them straight in the eye, squint a little, cough (into the crook of my elbow), let a wry smile slowly form on my lips, cock my head, look over the tops of my sunglasses, and shrug my shoulders. “Could be weeks, could be years.”
It could be like an epic novel.
This kind of straight talk is exactly what Americans want to hear. And like toilet paper, it’s in short supply these days. But there’s no limit to the amount of straight talk I can generate. Which is why I tell everyone I see that we all must get together and “fatten the curve.” But not too fat, thank you very much!
Excuse me while I check into why my publicist is hopping up and down and waving her arms.
OK, I’m back. Interesting news: it’s flatten the curve, not “fatten” the curve.
Ya think they coulda told us?!