Who says that infertility can’t be a barrel of fun? Today, I got a gift. A very special gift. Wrapped in an ice pack. And left on my doorstep in, I kid you not, a gift bag. That’s right. The man from the fertility pharmacy, which has a sickeningly quaint name that basically makes it sound like the boutique-neighborhood-cupcake-store, actually left my prescription – including a giant needle and something called a “sharps shuttle” that looks comically like an
uncomfortable plastic dildo
space… shuttle – in a gift bag. On my front porch, INPLAINVIEWOFTHEREALLYNOSYNEIGHBORS.
That’s right. Just like this. You sure do know the way to a girl’s heart, boutique-neighborhood-cupcake-store-pharmacy-delivery-man.