Baby Maker
July 19th, 2010
He’s twenty minutes late and when he arrives, he insists on dining at one of the outdoor tables, even though I point out that it’s sixty degrees and I’m wearing spaghetti straps. Within moments of sitting down, he asks why I don’t have kids. He then tells me his sperm count and adds, “If you want to be a mother, I can help with that.” I bail early but but the time I get home, I already have an email from him, complete with an attachment containing the results of his latest physical.
