Almost a year ago, I discovered a company called Premium Egg Donations. I’d heard some people talking about the high compensation rates young women could get for selling their eggs and as a miserly Ginger Jew, I loves to gets me some high compensation rates. I knew men donated sperm for somewhere around $50, so I didn’t expect the number to jump too obscenely high for lady juice. After reading their donor compensation section, though, I realized their version of payment was $10,000. What the shit? I’d never realized that a monthly cycle wasn’t just an annoyance, but also fiscally irresponsible. Every month, I was flushing my future children and thousands of dollars into the septic abyss. What am I supposed to do to make up for such a loss? Demand it back because it’s the American way? That would be like a guy hosing a girl down with some steamy man milk and demanding a check for lost wages.
Well, I applied to this agency because while I won’t become a high-class hooker for $10,000, I’m definitely not above sucking out my unborn baby halves with an enormous needle for it. Applying to this place was like applying to college, a dating site and the military all at once. They wanted SAT scores, transcripts, medical records and a million blurbs about myself. You can tell them about your desire to win a Pulitzer and all your previous abortions all in one cozy questionnaire.
Now, people have asked me if I’m bothered by the idea of having a kid running around this earth who is technically mine. My answer is no. Yes, the kid will have half my DNA (and I apologize for that) but it’s not going in this womb, so what connection would I really have to this kid? For most of my adult life I considered ripping my uterus out and turning it into a hat, because it would probably have more use than the dusty, lonely bitch it is now.
The other day, I heard back from the woman who runs the company and it turns out a nice couple in Connecticut think I’d be a perfect donor for them. I, of course, quit smoking so as to not taint the litter with my love of Parliaments and at this point, I’d French kiss a Pioneer Square hobo just to suck some of the tar out of his throat. Some time this week I’ll be doing a phone interview with their doctor and will prepare to start my hormone injections to beef up those little eggies. Apparently, for the next month I have to inject these hormones into my ass and they’re going to teach me how. Finally the local heroin addicts and I will have something to talk about.
Who’s excited to make babies? This bitch. Let’s get to it.
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