Spud, you don’t want to read this. Trust me.
So, for a brief moment in time, I thought that Bonnie might end up getting her dearest wish. Well, her dearest And3rson-related wish, anyway.
See, I had to go off the birth control pill two weeks before I was originally supposed to have surgery (January 23), so the last pill I took was on January 7th. It worked out well, because I had come to the end of the Seasonale pack anyway and was due to stop taking it for a week so I could have my period. Even though I ended up not having surgery until the 30th, I was still off the pill for more than the required two weeks, so I figured everything was fine.
Except.
Remember how Fred had a vasectomy last April? And remember how he was supposed to bring in a semen sample after he’d had sex a certain number of times? Guess who didn’t bother to do that? Guess who tossed out the specimen cups he was supposed to use to provide said samples?
So between the time I finished my period and the time I had surgery, there were many instances of.. you know. You know what I’m getting at, right? HOT MONKEY SEX, that’s what. And me not on the pill, and Fred possibly shooting blanks, but possibly not.
My period didn’t start, and didn’t start and didn’t start, and I couldn’t seem to figure out how long it had been since I’d last had my period, and I started to get paranoid.
“What if I’m pregnant!” I frantically said to Fred.
“You’re not pregnant,” he said.
“If there’s anyone on this earth who’d have a vasectomy and have it not “take”, it’d be YOU,” I said. “There will be no more HOT MONKEY SEX until you have your semen sample evaluated by a professional. There is nothing I want on god’s green earth right now – or EVER in the future – less than a BABY.”
“Why do you hate me?” Fred asked. “I don’t want to walk in there with a sample cup with EVERYONE in the waiting room knowing what I’ve been doing.”
“I’ll TAKE the freaking sample cup to the doctor’s office,” I promised.
But first I had to go to the doctor’s office and pick UP a sample cup since see above about someone who is not me tossing out the sample jars we had. And when I walked into the doctor’s office, the waiting room was packed to the gills with men, and I tried to be discreet when I said “I need to pick up a sample cup for my husband”, but the words seemed to come out of my mouth and echo around the room, and my face went bright flaming red. The receptionist gave me a sample cup and I flew out of there as fast as I could.
And then, Monday morning (HEY EVERYBODY! GUESS WHAT FRED WAS DOING MONDAY MORNING!) I had to take the actual sample cup avec sample back to the same doctor’s office said sample cup all wrapped up in a plastic grocery bag – since we don’t have any kind of paper bag anywhere in the house – and this time when I walked in to the doctor’s waiting room there were only three people sitting there, but when the receptionist came to the window and I said “I’m dropping off a sample for my husband”, again the words echoed about the room and the three people who were in the waiting room stopped talking and – I presume, since they were behind me and I didn’t turn around to see – started listening.
“Is his name on it?” the receptionist asked. I stared at her.
“I don’t know,” I said, and let “And I’m not looking” remain unspoken.
She gave me a piece of paper to write down his name and phone number.
“Will he be answering at this number?” she asked sternly, as though I had taken a semen sample from him without his knowledge, to have it tested, and planned to keep the results from him.
“Yes,” I said.
And got the hell out of there.
Several hours later, the doctor – or a nurse, I don’t know which – called and told Fred that he was all clear. No sperms flailing about, apparently.
Let the HOT MONKEY SEX begin!
Oh, and I started my period last Wednesday, so (HUGE SIGH OF RELIEF) no baby.
Sorry, Bonnie!
Brudderly love.
Poor Tommy. He lays in this bed, sound asleep, and Sugarbutt comes up and plops down right on top of him.
Hallelujah for the belly rub!