“Tight white polo shirts,” “perfectly weathered face”: Holed up in coronavirus quarantine, love-starved NYC female writers churn out Andrew Cuomo bodice-rippers

Photo: Getty Images

Strange dear, but true dear
When I’m close to you, dear
The stars fill the sky
So in love with you am I

But the one thing I do have to look forward to every day like clockwork has been New York Governor Andrew Cuomo’s daily press briefings at 11 a.m. (Sometimes he’s late, and starts them at 11:30. I’ve started referring to this waiting time as “Cuomo FOMO.”) Like a velveteen gravity blanket for my soul, the second I see this man’s perfectly weathered face and tousled curls, the moment his Pacino-like accent fills my living room with its mafia-like authority, my blood pressure drops, my breasts seem to perk up on their own, and a tingly feeling of optimism washes over my imprisoned body as I think to myself… I think we’re gonna be okay….

Even without you
My arms fold about you
You know darling why
So in love with you am I

As I sit alone in my apartment on the couch one of my roommates left behind, wondering when I can escape, if I’m already sick, if anyone will ever hug me again, if my 74-year-old father will survive this, only one thing is certain. Andrew Cuomo, Dear Leader, will take care of me. He loves me. He is the only one who is here for me. He will help me get through this.

In love with the night mysterious
The night when you first were there
In love with my joy delirious
When I knew that you could care

I did not want to miss even his first on-air breath.

I plopped onto the bed in the guest room, pulled up the link and sat back to watch as the governor’s voice came through the speakers on my MacBook.

That sense of angst I’d experienced the day before in the grocery store?

Gone.

At least temporarily.

So taunt me, and hurt me
Deceive me, desert me
I’m yours, till I die…..

Thank you for your different outfits, your tight white polo shirts, your forceful language, and your clear, easy-to-read graphics that are probably meant as a learning manual for Donald Trump. I love your bar graphs and pie charts, Governor. They’ve helped me to understand what this disease is doing and how important it is to self-quarantine….

I could get used to waking up to Andrew Cuomo on a more regular basis.

So in love…. So in love….
So in love with you, my love… am I….

And then there’s Andrew the dad, embarrassing his kids with stories of their upbringing after his divorce, when he was a single father, and bringing his 22-year-old daughter Michaela to one of his coronavirus press briefings, suggesting it was “cooler” to be with him there than to be on the spring break vacation she had just wisely cancelled….

And after her piece came out, Cuomo called her! (As [Jezebel writer Rebecca] Fishbein wrote in a follow-up: “I did not ask a single substantive policy question. I did not ask about the hand sanitizer. I did not ask him to go on a FaceTime date with me. Somewhere in there, I thanked him for his leadership. I may have blacked out.”)

You know what? Even though I’m married and have three children and a fabulous husband I adore, I felt a pang of jealousy. He was MY competent governor/imaginary boyfriend.

Update: Thanks, Instapundit!

Update #2: Thanks, Ace of Spades HQ!

Posted by Charlotte Allen