This is probably going to be offensive. I say this upfront, and maybe- you could stop reading now.
You know those stories that just pop into your head and you start telling them and you suddenly stop…. And think… Oh my god- this story is entirely inappropriate. How do you end it? “….andtheyputtheirclothesonandwenttochurch..theend!” Because that never works. People look at you like you’re nuts, and you start backpedaling… really- it’s a good thing to have foresight in these things.
I do not have that.
I wanted to sit down and write a well-worded love song to my form of birth control, because in all seriousness- it’s probably the favorite part of myself right now. I googled, “love song birth control,” and nothing came up, and by nothing came up? A weird song by some strange band and of course- Jesus’s love and our sinful bodies using birth control… blah. So- I thought… somewhere someone has to have written a giddy love note to the device/pill/method that they use so when they hold hands, or even thinking about someone, ‘in-that-way,’ they can’t get pregnant. (Because that’s how my mom still tells me baby’s happen- like I don’t know.)
So, to my parents and everyone shaking their heads at this moment- you have my sincerest apologies. But I have written a love song to someone very special in my life- someone, that because I’m not a freak who personifies things with weird names… doesn’t have a name. (And it’s probably better. Because I might call it ‘thecoolestthingevah.’)
Dearest Coolest-thing-ever-formed-by-a-man-next-to-chocolate-covered-bacon,
I love you. I love you more than words could ever express. I love that when I feel the slight tug, when most months I’m rolling my eyes? I sigh, a heavy, happy sigh, like sleeping in on a Sunday Morning, and I rejoice. You have kept me happily uninvolved with the disgusting thing I shall call, ‘pregnancy,’ for yet, another month. You don’t work overtime, and I try not to put too much pressure on you to ‘step up to the plate.’ I’m fairly librarian-like. I learned once, and I try to cross my legs at my ankles. But you? You afford me freedoms I’ve never known. I hold hands with men! I sit next to phantom-hotness-geek-guy, (PHGG,) on the bus, and I do not fear his strength!
Love of my sexual life, we’ve been through these recent weeks together, and I want you to know that for all you’ve done, and the reassurance you have given me- I owe you- like big time. You deserve parades in your honor, and singing telegrams of thanks. You used your mystical and magical powers, and have freed me from someone who might have used his evil lure of manhood and Stenson, (which totally reaks- btw,) to save me. You, are my superhero, birth control. There are few times in my life when I can actually utter the words, ‘Holy Shit. What? What is ….. oooooooooooo. (thankgod.)” in the woman’s bathroom and ANYONE who’s ever gotten their period magically when they did the prayer KNOWS.
Dear God.
Dude– I know. I know! Why, right? Here’s the thing- I liked him, he had a cool car… I didn’t mind the backhair… I mean- he’s your kid, right? Don’t judge me, or like… and stuff. Maybe, umm- this once? (Again?) You could like totally just poof- make my period come so I don’t have to do the whole awkward phone call thing, where we already broke up but like- waytogoKate’suterus, waytodowhatyou’resupposedtodo. Because that’s really, really awkward, and I’m totally not really wanting that right now. Remember how in highschool, when I said that if you could make that hickey go away, I’d totally ace my tests and sing in church more? Well– you kinda owe me for that one. My mom- (do you remember how pissed she was? No? …I do.) And I know- you’ve like, totally got SO MUCH on your plate- starving kids, dying pets, disease, war, and Clay Aiken getting someone pregnant- I mean… who knew, right? So– maybe… you could point your finger and make my fallopian tubes the epitome of holiness again. K? I’ll like, help homeless people and donate to good causes. I’ll totally NEVER kiss a guy again. Promise. PinkySwear. (Are you even still listening?) Cool. Thanks, Dude.
We should totally hang out- I’ll grab us coffee. We’ll chat, and you can sit a little taller. I’ll never take you for granted… promise.
B.F.F.
All my thanks,
The girl who owns the uterus.
