Love in the time of COVID-19

From an Althouse commenter, exasperated by a particularly fatuous New York blog about ZOOM dating and the prospects for tentative post-lockdown romance:

It was a dark and stormy night. I opened the door and, at last, he was there. I had never seen him but I recognized him at once as if his heart wore some strange emblem on his sleeve. His dark eyes burned into mine and in voice strangely distant he said my name - "Mabel!" "No," I said, my voice choked in the same, strange distant way, "No, I'm Noemi, Mabel lives next door if you call it living when she can't get herself a bootleg haircut. She...." "It is you," he said in the same distant voice, "I have seen you from afar on the cameras and I can no longer wait." Strong figures tore at my mask and I heard it rip. "No," I screamed, "No, you may be infected, toxically masculine or a Trump supporter, which is worse, I don't know!" My mask fell to the floor. Fire seemed to run over him and he came closer. I heard him shout "You, it is you, at last." My senses swayed and yearned as avid lips sought mine to garner sweetness and the last thing I felt was a burning sensation spreading like fire through my loins of desire. When I came to, the pizza man was gone and the pizza was cold and crushed in its box where it had fallen between us as he grabbed for his money. He'd taken his money and gone. Took a hefty tip, too. I guess that little game of sending for pizza and claiming that I was Noemi, not Mabel, the girl next door and that the pizza guys were getting it wrong because of the masks, is over. Never mind.