To Plan B and the Fathers Who Never Were

This post was originally published on Beacon Reader, an experiment in crowdsourced publishing that has subsequently ceased to exist. RIP Beacon Reader. 

Overview: This Father’s Day, I’m celebrating the medical technologies and institutions that have prevented me from having to celebrate Father’s Day. Today I am thanking my lucky stars that it’s 2014 and I could opt out of ruining my life.

I’ve twenty-seven years old and I’ve never been pregnant.  I’ve never wanted to be pregnant. I don’t know if I ever do want to become pregnant. But I have probably only narrowly managed to avoid it. So today, I will celebrate Father’s Day by thanking my lucky stars that I don’t have to celebrate Father’s Day. Instead, I’ll celebrate the main factor that has allowed me to maintain my childless state of being: Happy Father’s Day, Plan B!

If it weren’t for you, Plan B, I might be spending today with the new-age hippy who smelled like patchouli and used a condom he’d been keeping in his wallet which subsequently broke; the entitled CEO who didn’t bother with condoms at all because I was too drunk to kick up a fuss before it was already happening; the blue-haired drummer from the printer ink kiosk in the mall who took my virginity without asking while my clothes were still on somehow that I still don’t fully understand; but especially to the gorgeous European guy who had never been seduced by an American woman before and we both stupidly found it impossible to keep his perfect seed away from my egg zone.

You guys can all thank your lucky stars that we live in an era where levonorgestrel is sold OTC, and that I had the foresight and emotional resiliency to do the necessary recon to keep each of you from attaining daddy status. If it wasn’t for the inventors of this chemical and the legislators who made it available to women over 17 who have ~$50 to spare, I might be six-months pregnant from a guy across the Atlantic, shackled to a screaming toddler, or living in a commune somewhere in Nevada. I certainly wouldn’t be living in New York City running a business.

So live it up today, gentlemen. Drink a margarita on the roof, play some summer sports, and maybe even seduce a stranger—with consent and protection this time, please. I will do the same and celebrate the fact that I didn’t have to push any of your spawn out of my lady bits and can continue to live a life free from genetic and legal ties to any other human on this planet.

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