I went to a “crisis pregnancy centre” today for a free pregnancy test. Once my friends Robert and Ian started humping on the couch in the counselling room, the anti-choice woman wasn’t much interested in keeping me around for anti-baby-murder propagandizing, but she did give me a test…
Or rather, she gave me a paper bag with a styrofoam cup, a film canister and a wet nap in it and sent me out back to piss in the parking lot because they don’t have a public washroom.
I opted to go use a Tim Hortons washroom with my little baggie full of weird scavenger hunt items. Luckily, I figured out in the nick of time that the wet nap was for wiping the piss off my hands, not my vag. (Ouch.) Unfortunately, the gay love in the counselling room cut my whole visit short, so I’ll never get to tell you why on earth the crisis pregnancy centre keeps around a bunch of candy dishes full of tiny plastic babies.
I live in a city where not only is it exceedingly difficult to get an abortion, but I am surrounded by anti-choice propaganda in every public place I may wish to visit. After Congress (a great big academic conference) was hosted here earlier this year, I heard two comments from friends who visited: 1) damn, there sure are a lot of anti-abortion billboards, and 2) damn, there sure are a lot of pregnant teenagers. And still, they want me to piss out back in the fucking parking lot.
And so ends today’s missive from the anti-feminist bizarro-world in which I live.