I refused to wear uncomfortable underwear when I had coronavirus. This is probably TMI for at least 86% of the people who subscribe to this newsletter—parents, colleagues, people I’ve met once in a networking setting, people bamboozled enough by my tweeted self-promotion that they’ve subscribed (gotcha). But it is the truth and this is my newsletter and I will do and say what I want. I wore only comfy underwear for the 4 days I was symptomatic, rolling around in my own sweat with a fever that wouldn’t quit. I wore comfy underwear to the clinic where I was tested, only to wait a week and a day for results that confirmed what I had suspected. I wore comfy underwear for the week and a half I self-quarantined afterward, not leaving the house, not speaking to anyone closer than 6 feet away, communing with friends on my birthday through my open first-floor window while they stood in the street with masks on. This past week, when I finally did laundry, what I folded was a massive pile of comfy underwear, leggings, T-shirts, and just about every sweatshirt I owned. And, thank god, finally, my sweaty coronavirus sheets.
Presumed positive
Presumed positive
Presumed positive
I refused to wear uncomfortable underwear when I had coronavirus. This is probably TMI for at least 86% of the people who subscribe to this newsletter—parents, colleagues, people I’ve met once in a networking setting, people bamboozled enough by my tweeted self-promotion that they’ve subscribed (gotcha). But it is the truth and this is my newsletter and I will do and say what I want. I wore only comfy underwear for the 4 days I was symptomatic, rolling around in my own sweat with a fever that wouldn’t quit. I wore comfy underwear to the clinic where I was tested, only to wait a week and a day for results that confirmed what I had suspected. I wore comfy underwear for the week and a half I self-quarantined afterward, not leaving the house, not speaking to anyone closer than 6 feet away, communing with friends on my birthday through my open first-floor window while they stood in the street with masks on. This past week, when I finally did laundry, what I folded was a massive pile of comfy underwear, leggings, T-shirts, and just about every sweatshirt I owned. And, thank god, finally, my sweaty coronavirus sheets.