He was unmoved.
A couple years ago, I told you how I don't want to have kids. Fortunately, my husband Simon is on the same page as me, a page filled with curse words and porn because there are no young people around to see it. We like sleep and disposable income and our dog who doesn't wake us up 50 times a night with questions about the theme of Green Eggs and Ham, or whatever it is that children do.
But since I am still relatively gynecologically young at 33, there are many accidental and extremely dirty baby-making opportunities in the future. This means that we have to think about how to prevent this from happening, permanently. Unfortunately, when I brought up the idea of a vasectomy with my husband a couple weeks ago, our talk went exactly like this:
Me: I think you should get a vasectomy.
Him: Fuck no.
Apparently, there is something about shutting off his sperm flow that doesn't appeal to him on a basic man-level. So I set out to change his mind.
Since we are sensible people who love each other, of course that wasn't the end of the conversation. I brought it up again with facts and figures backing up my point. For example, we'd save lots of money on various forms of birth control over the next decade.
Plus, a vasectomy is a simple outpatient procedure as opposed to getting my tubes tied, which is major surgery and less effective. And we simply can't keep risking having an accident, when our options would then be to raise a kid we don't want, which wouldn't be fair to any of us; give it up for adoption, which would be emotionally wrenching; or having an abortion, which I would prefer not to do, since the wonderful, woman-hating state of Texas makes getting one as difficult and painful as possible. Getting a vasectomy just makes the most sense out of all our options.
He was unmoved.
My husband trained in biology and is still very science-minded. I write about sex magicians. So I decided to go online and look up studies about vasectomies, hoping to find evidence that would sway him.
All I can say is fuck you, science. Help a girl out here.
It turns out that huge studies conducted in 1993 and 2014 found that getting the snip made men more likely to get prostate cancer. Like, a whopping 10 percent more likely to get it and 20 percent more likely to die from it when they did. No one seems sure why, but it must be that cutting off some of a man's juice makes his body want to kill itself.
This was not what I wanted to hear. But all was not lost! A study in 2016 found that vasectomies made no difference either way. So maybe he won't die of cancer! It's a coin toss, really, but it's still better odds than me crushing his head with my bare hands while in labor in retaliation for what he did to me.
I was starting to think that Simon just hadn't spent enough time around children to know how very annoying and sticky they are. It doesn't help that my sister has a toddler that is not only superhumanly adorable, but has never once cried in our presence, like she's trying to win a baby interview. This is not normal. I know that if we had a kid it would develop colic by the time it was a blastocyst. It wouldn't even need lungs. I'd just be walking around with screams echoing out of my vagina. He needed to know how bad it would be.
I started off simple, by switching out his phone's alarm with the sound of a baby crying. Then I set it to go off 10 times a night. Unfortunately, he quickly learned to check before he went to bed. During the day, I made sure that all of our TVs and computers were playing non-stop marathons of Kate Plus 8 and that Duggar show. No matter where he turned, there were reminders of how crappy it would be to end up with enough children to repopulate Wyoming.
Once he started just muting the TV, I knew I had to go a step further. I laid out a line of candy from the street to our open front door and waited. All I needed to do was catch a kid or two and shut them in a room with Simon. It would be like reverse Stockholm Syndrome and he'd break after just a few hours of playing Duck, Duck, Goose and answering the question "why?" seven thousand times. But the children around here must be pretty smart, or still living off their stashes from Halloween, because I didn't get a single taker. I yelled "Look, I have found the Mr. Pikachu!" for an entire afternoon, because I thought that it would send kids in droves to the flypaper I had laid out on the patio. Still, no dice.
I know from reading MRA forums that women are masters of using sex as a weapon, so I thought I could use this to my advantage. I figured I would repeatedly seduce my husband and then refuse to sleep with him until he gets the snip. My therapist says this is "manipulation" and "a twisted power play" that could "destroy my marriage." You know what else will destroy my marriage? When I have a baby and am so sleep deprived that I start beating my husband with the 10th dirty diaper I changed that day.
I turned to history for inspiration. Women have come up with a lot of ways to seduce men over the years. I could wrap myself up in a carpet like Cleopatra and have myself delivered, but Simon would probably send that away because we don't actually need a very lumpy new carpet. Then there is the ever-popular fan dance, if I could find an ostrich farm and pluck their feathers before they kicked me to death. But I think I am going to go with the ultimate slutty success story. In the 500s, a prostitute named Theodora managed to get the emperor of Byzantium to fall in love with and marry her. She supposedly did this by performing an erotic number based on the story of Leda and the Swan, where Zeus transforms himself into the bird and has sex with Leda. Theodora's take on this was to get a goose to peck grain from her love taco. I have no idea why this would be sexy, but who am I to argue with history?
It turns out that even Texas gets cold enough that it is unbearable to walk around your house all day without clothes on. Simon simply turned off the heat and my plan was almost derailed. But I persevered: surely this epic dance of seduction could not be ruined by the addition of footie pajamas.
Just in case, I added a few more geese, in order to up the sexiness factor. It didn't work. Now the house is covered in crap and other than the birds, absolutely no one feels like getting it on. And watching birds try to screw makes for remarkably ineffective porn for normal humans.
You know what is better than metaphorical weapons? Real weapons. In this case, I'm thinking knives, knitting needles, anything sharp and relatively thin. I'm going to attempt to camouflage them and arrange them anywhere Simon might sit down.
The medical profession in this country has a lot to answer for. It turns out that my knives weren't placed with surgical precision and we had a bit of an accident. Nothing that a few stitches won't fix. While it's all numb down there anyway, I asked the doctor if he couldn't just go in and fix my husband on the sly.
He started screaming things about malpractice so I tried slipping him some money but the change fell all over the floor. Then I asked to speak to a lady doctor, figuring she would understand my plight better. Instead, they made me go wait in the car.
It was time to bring out the big guns. I needed Simon to really understand what it would be like if I dropped the bomb on him that I was pregnant. The best way to get this metaphor across, obviously, was by using an actual bomb.
Instead of walking out of a doctor's office with some ice in his pants, he woke up to find a bomb strapped to his genitals. It was easy enough to find the instructions for how to make one online, and honestly, if I haven't been arrested yet considering the research I do for this site, then it's never going to happen.
Now it's just a matter of waiting. I fixed it so that if he wants to clip the wire to stop the bomb from going off, then he'll have to snip his vas deferens as well. Otherwise we are both going to be blowing our genetic material all over these walls. It will mix together in a beautiful, tragic manner, but one that won't create human life and that will be totally worth it.
For more reasons to buy stock in birth control check out 5 Annoying Things Parents Say to People Who Don't Have Kids and 5 Arguments Parents Have (Never Won) With Their Kids.
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