A second summer of Rona “Well in, I’d say!” goes the punchline to the world’s oldest honeymoon nuptials’ joke: At long last, the virgin bride’s conjugal evening has arrived — you’ve all heard this one before, kids — demure timidity and blushing purity personified is our fair maiden, breathlessly anticipating promissory fireworks and exploding stars!
Her handsome new groom mounts her. She braces for newlywed lift-off. The mattress begins gyrating, the bed posts start rattling, yet … with no rocket launch discernible: An emergency abort? “Bunny Puff”?
she inquires delicately, emotionless. “Apollo, are … you in yet, my sweet?” “Well in!” I’d say, indeed, during this — our second, melted-down summer in a row of euphoric expectations versus