Dating by Contract

Luke left 2 weeks ago for a job in the mid-west. We laughed, we cried, we laughed some more. We had some really good times and some very good sex. From the beginning of the relationship we knew that it would most likely be short-term, and it was. Now he is gone and it is unlikely that we will see each other again anytime soon. And I'm okay with that. This is the first time I've ever had a defined relationship of short duration with a known expiration date. Neither of us could change that date and the date was not due to a fault on either end. There was no bad guy. When he did something I found irritating or unacceptable, I found myself thinking, "Well, its only for 3 more weeks anyway." Its hardly worth a major confrontation if its ending in 3 weeks, now is it? I never had to give much thought to whether this could really work long-term, because the term was short. And because the term was short, I felt free to really get to know him without worrying if he was getting too attached, if I was, if I really thought there was potential, if he was 'relationship' material, if I could live with his baggage, if he could live with mine --- I must tell you, the short-term contract was really freeing.

The Sperminator

I was speaking at a conference on Friday and decided to wear a bright orange/hot pink color block mini dress that I bought on a whim a few months ago. It is 40% Austin Powers, 40% Laugh In, and 20% What in the Hell am I doing? But it matched my mood and the sunny spring day, so I decided WTF? Let me back up for a moment. Three and a half years ago, I had 5 frozen embryos in the cooler while I was looking for my gestational carrier extraordinaire. We used the 3 best quality embryos in round one, with no success. While waiting to cycle and implant the last 2 (one of whom is now Lucy), I decided to transfer my care and my sperm samples to another center that would be covered by my new health insurance. I was told to contact the head of the sperm center, The Sperminator, which I did on multiple occasions by both e-mail and phone. He repeatedly put me off, took weeks to respond to my requests,refused to help me and generally pissed me off. I finally asked if I needed to speak to his supervisor when, voila!, I learned I was expecting a baby. My focus changed and the sperm transfer was temporarily forgotten. A few months later the center that held my sample contacted me to ask about my plans. I explained that I'd tried to transfer the sample, without success, and the woman there said, "Well, you know why, right?" "No, I have no idea. Why?" "Dr. Sperminator refuses to work with single women. He says its an "ethical" issue for him." Gasp. "You have absolutely got to be kidding me?" "Unfortunately, I'm not". A New York Times headline flashed before my eyes. The Nightly News. A lawsuit. The ACLU. A public flogging. A public castration. But, fortunately or unfortunately, the raging bull was lost in the tidal wave of the pregnancy and I never got to confront the Sperminator. Until last Friday. The Sperminator was the MC at this conference and apparently forgot our email tirade, my name, and my threats. I, however, did not forget The Sperminator. The Sperminator is a 70ish looking schmarmy guy with sparse gray hair who very much liked my Austin Powers get up. He shook my hand, welcomed me to the conference, and sweet talked me onto the stage. After my lecture he stopped me on the stage, held my arm (yuck!), and told me what a star I was. He then came up to me after and asked me to stay for the entire conference (no, thanks). I think The Sperminator would have liked to make his own sperm donation - the old fashioned way. I never reminded The Sperminator who I was or how we knew each other. It seemed strangely satisfying to instead give a great lecture wearing a bold mini-dress, to walk out on his invitation to join him for the day without looking back, and to instead go home to take Lucy to the park. These boots were made for walking, Sperminator.