Plan B: Get It While You Can

Yesterday morning I was thinking, If only gynecological exams were as cool as lavender rhinestoned My Little Pony musical gumball machines that spit candy from their asses when you twist their necks. My new doctor says she tries to perk up her own annuals by scheduling the last appointment of the morning with an OB/GYN friend so they do Pap and lunch, which is probably about as cool as something involving KY jelly and a cold speculum in the hoo-hoo can get. I guess there could be medical fetishists reading this shaking their heads. To you I say, "Now you'll feel a slight pressure..."

Anyway, I got poked, prodded, and blood drawed. The phlebotomist was so good I almost asked for her phone number; but then I realized that would have meant possibly seeing her again -- and really, fewer needles in my life equals fewer opportunities for full-blown anxiety attacks culminating in loss of consciousness. I also took home some Plan B emergency contraception pills, with 3 extra refills on the prescription. My ideal Plan A would be to vasectomize all males even contemplating setting foot within 30 paces of my naked body, but I'll take what I can get.

I first tried filling the prescription at the pharmacy downstairs from the doctor's office. The clerk was having a leisurely chat with a co-worker when I approached the counter. His demeanor changed rapidly when he saw my scrip. "Your first time?" he spoke intently, lowering his chin. I'd never been to this pharmacy before, so I answered yes, reflecting to myself that hey, he was kinda hot! He took my prescription, rushed to the back, rushed back to the front, apologizing profusely for not having the meds in stock. His eyes were big and sympathetic as he handed me a large stack of $5 coupons good toward future purchases at this pharmacy. He directed me to a nearby Rite Aid, and I couldn't figure out why he was being so extra-super-nice to me.

I drove around for quite some time searching for this mythical Rite Aid --apparently Hot Pharmacist was as directionally challenged as he was sincere-- finally ending up at another pharmacy attached to a different medical center altogether.

You know how you can just smell some people's socially conservative leanings? It was the moment I gave the Plan B prescription to the second druggist that I realized why Hot Pharmacist had been so hell bent on our personal connection: he hadn't been thinking I was hot. He'd been thinking someone else had already found me hot, in like a zygotic kind of way. Conservative Pharmacist didn't refuse to fill my order, but he gave me a look that clearly said I should be ashamed of myself.

Oh.

Now this is a private pharmacy in Pasadena, not a Target in Missouri. I signed the Planned Parenthood petition last fall and immediately buried my head in the sand because every time I think about the political battle over women's basic health rights, it catapults me into a helpless, seething rage normally reserved for the parking lot-style rush hour traffic on Sunset Boulevard.

Well, I thought about it some more. And I went to bed thinking, not for the first time, that while candy-shitting My Little Pony musical gumball machines might be seriously the coolest thing ever, if I couldn't have one of those, I would be happy to take guaranteed reproductive freedoms as a solid acceptable backup.