It was to be the first birthday of Robyn’s firstborn, a girl, and the first grandchild of Mario and Dora. Robyn organized a little party for the occasion.
Robyn couldn’t believe that a whole year had gone by since the birth of her daughter. She had spent ages, both before and after the birth, in selecting a name for her child. It had to be something different; something uncommon but pronounceable; something that wasn’t silly and sounded like a proper name. Robyn thought of Keats, but really that was more suited to a boy. She thought of foreign names; some of the African names were beautiful but no one would know how to pronounce them properly.
Of course, it could be said that Robyn had spent too much time in selecting a name for her daughter. “Just name the child!” Robyn’s mother had said.
Now, a year on at the party things still weren’t settled. Robyn made an announcement.
“I’m changing the baby’s name. When I named her originally I thought the name was beautiful, but not so any more. From now on she will be known as Veronica and not Corona.”
Peter reckoned he picked up the coronavirus from the telephone while he was speaking to his grandmother. She had the coronavirus and he talked to her on the landline. She always phoned on the landline even though he had his own phone.
And now he had caught the virus off the phone. His mother had said, “Don’t be silly. You can’t catch the virus by talking to grandma on the phone. Look at me! I phone grandma every morning and I’m perfectly well. Although I’ve had a slightly sore throat these last few days.”
At grandma’s funeral, Peter’s mother gave the coronavirus to every mourner she kissed – whether she had put droplets into their telephone receiver or not.