DAY TWELVE

I wanted a diaphragm, because you know, I had heard good things. So I went to Planned Parenthood for a fitting. I will skip the f-ed up circus monkey business leading up to this appointment because it holds no entertainment value whatsoever. In fact, I’m vexed just thinking about it.

I'd never seen a diaphragm before, so naturally I had many questions for the nurse. She gave me the run down on cleaning, caring and feeding my new pink rubber pet. I asked her if it was dishwasher safe, thinking that was pretty cute, but she didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. In fact, she reprimanded me for taking contraception so lightly by making me take a diaphragm pop quiz, where I had to take one of the samples and insert/remove it all by myself. After a bit of wrestling, I managed to complete both tasks. I was quite proud of my accomplishment, but the nurse didn’t make a big show about it. She didn’t even give me a sticker or a superball or anything like that. The whole ordeal, mandatory exam, fitting, lab fees, etc ended up costing me about $350.

Bugger. Me.

No seriously, bugger me, and do it well because I've got to make this all worthwhile.