January – Dear Diary: Happy 2020! My optometrist waited a lifetime for this year and now deems it, “The Year of Clear Vision!” because of 20/20 perfect eyesight. I suspect he just wants free advertising on the top of everyone’s calendar. Let him try and find a clever slogan during Rosh Hashana when we ring in 5781! PS. Nothing else new, looks like it may be a dull, uneventful twelve months.

February – Dear Diary: The WHO just renamed The CoronaVirus as Covid-19. I’m waiting for them to change their hit song Baba O’Riley to Teenage Wasteland, since that’s what everyone thinks the title is anyhow. (Anyone snooping in my diary, google that!)

March – Dear Diary: Whoops! I don’t think they mean ‘The Who,’ as in the 60’s rock group. Because suddenly there’s lots of peer pressure to buy a ton of toilet paper. I’m just going along with the crowd and stocking up. I mentioned this latest fad to my mother, and she started her usual kvetching – “So if all your friends jumped off a cliff, would you do that as well?” Also I turned 56 the same day the U.S. declared a national emergency. Even though nobody called or sent a card, I consoled myself thinking the entire country is singing, “Happy Birthday” to me each time they wash their hands the proper length of time.

April – Dear Diary: Today I came up with the clever observation that, “Passover is cancelled this year due to an 11th plague.” However someone far more internet savvy than I am plagiarized me by slapping a colorful image on it, turning the whole thing into a viral meme which is earning them a small fortune. Now there’s a new phrase circulating which states, “We Must Flatten the Curve!” This time I’m not taking any chances, Diary. I’m gonna copyright that and sell it to Spanx or another company manufacturing women’s undergarments. Look for it soon on packages of control-top girdles and minimizer bras!

May – Dear Diary: The news says we should all use face masks. I’m thinking a dermatologist must’ve somehow gotten involved and decided we need nicer complexions. Oh boy, now everyone will hoard the ones for oily skin and probably the kind with avocado and egg whites that help tighten pores and smooth wrinkles in women my age. Sheesh, I can’t win.

June – Dear Diary: How is it that every single storefront or place of business emails me detailed reports on a daily basis alerting me to the elaborate lengths they’re going to with regards to hygiene and the fastidious steps their employees are taking to kill germs – yet I can’t get a single verbal confirmation from any of my six kids that they’ve rinsed their hands before dinner?

July – Dear Diary: It seems everywhere on social media I’m shamed for being unproductive. Rubbing my nose in how creative everyone else has been during lockdown. I can’t go a single day without getting reminded, “Shakespeare wrote King Lear during a quarantine.” So what! If he was really such an overachiever big macher, he would’ve also penned Antony and Cleopandemic and Corona-eo and Juliet. Plus I’m sick and tired of Netflix’s “Are you still watching?” pop-up notifications after my hours of bingeing Shtisel. Yes I’m still watching, what else is there to do? My fridge seems to have caught on to this interrogation and now asks me, “Nu? You’re STILL eating?!”

August – Dear Diary: It’s all over the news – “Famous scientists and huge pharmaceutical labs work feverishly to find the first Covid-19 vaccination!” Then there’s my grandmother who insists she’s done tons of research and lo and behold her chicken soup is the cure! But instead of “Jewish Penicillin” in a bowl, she wants her broth administered by needle syringe so she can name it after herself, calling it “Maxine’s Vaccine.” Bubbie has always needed to feel important.

Sept-December – Dear Diary: All these long difficult months have divided our country over politics, so I decided to unite people everywhere with my version of Abbot and Costello’s famous routine. It’s a real hoot. I’ll inquire, “WHO declared a pandemic?” and when they answer, “That’s right.” I’ll respond, “No, I’m asking you . . . Who declared a pandemic??” After we go round and round with this shtick, at some point I’ll shout, “I Don’t Know is on third base!” Okay, okay . . . so maybe it still needs a little more work. Good riddance 2020!