Marry. Married. 

Are you married? Fuck you. 

I had a doctor appointment today. I just really wanted another prescription for another free year of birth control. 

You’re here for a Pap?

Well, I guess. (Years ago: Planed Parenthood told me I could get a Pap once every three years.)

It is recommended every other year. Then followed up with: Well, are you married?


Oh well. You’re fine for another year. 

Fuck them. Fuck that. How does signing a piece of paper = still equal one sexual partner for the rest of your life? I wasn’t in Trumpville, USA when this happened. We were in Los Angeles. Any dumb 18 year old can take another 18 year old to a courthouse to sign a marriage certificate. 

Before marriage. As many partners as you want. Once that paper is signed. One. Just the one. 

What is so difficult about stating: if you’ve had multiple parents, it’s a good idea to get a yearly Pap. How is the married question still a polite means of asking one partner vs. multiple partners? It takes more confidence and courage to say: Yes, I’m married and yes, I’ve had more than one partner. 

Anywho. I went under the knife. And by knife. I mean two fingers. Why not? Who knows what kind of healthcare is in my future. And yes, I treated myself to a glass of red wine and medium done burger. Matt ordered a beer and katsu/chicken curry. Delicious. 


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