Tuesday, February 29, 2000


Although the prospect of inseminating in the backseat of the car at the airport seems at best awkward, complicated, and uncomfortable, and at worst likely to result in a criminal citation if not incarceration at the hands of airport police, it means another chance at getting the swimmers to the party on time. You bite the bullet, change the plane tickets to the tune of a couple hundred bucks, and explain to your mother that you’ll be coming in a bit later than planned. Like midnight.

You board the plane with impressions from the seat belt buckle and the gear shift still visible in your backside, but glowing with the knowledge that dammitall, you got that sperm in you and it’s out of your (Cait’s?) hands now.