Five years ago today (and many more times since then but I’m only speaking to this particular instance), I was on my back with my legs in the air while a stranger fiddled around with my insides; preparing my womb for the installation of a time-sensitive Doomsday Device: the Mirena IUD. This Weapon of Sperm Destruction has been quietly working away all up in my business, blasting foolhardy sperm into oblivion and protecting my carefree, pointless existence from the ongoing threat of responsibility and purpose. Go ahead and splash my cervix with the most potent of your man juices: I laugh at your ejaculate! I sneer at your seminal fluid! Your mightiest warriors of procreation are no match for the chemical wasteland that is my uterus; all spermatozoa look on my works, be mighty, and despair!
Unfortunately, all wonderful things must come to an end: the Mirena has a 5-year lifecycle, and as of an hour or so ago, I am in immediate danger of pregnancy. Even as I type this, I am calmly dodging a steady stream of sperm coming from all directions, trying to take advantage of my vulnerable state. The joke’s on them, though: while the Mirena has a recommended lifespan of 5 years, it apparently will work just fine for up to seven years. I did a bunch of panicked research this morning when I realized my blinking red palm flower was about to go solid black; fully anticipating some sort of explosion followed by a swarm of babies, but .. nothing. I am safe.
You’ll never convince ME that having a foreign hostile object all up in my quivering velvet is a bad idea. IUD? More like IUDeeeeelightful!
Thanks, I’ll be here all week.