You can't afford me.
Tear are streaming from my face. I can feel the snot coming too. It’s pouring out of my nose slowly. I quickly wipe it away from my nose. I panic and keep wiping my face. My hands are soaked. Great, I think to myself, now I have to touch the key pad. The cashier darts her eyes away from me.
“That will be $98.52,” she mummers. My wet fingers key in my pin code. Denied. Try again. Try again. Just once more.
“Is there another card you can use,” she shifts uncomfortably. I turn away and power walk to the bathroom. Crying. I mean sobbing, almost comically so. Sounds and all.
The reason for my public humiliation: birth control. My insurance company, my doctors office, and pharmacy have all played the mean kind of mind games used for psychological warfare. One person tells me one thing, while the other says they’ve done their part, and another is simply clueless. Sounds kind of like Congress right now during our current bithcontrol debate.
I can make every argument that’s already been made: this is misogynistic, antiquated, etc, etc. But I can’t understand why men in congress are so against my use of birth control. It’s financially killing me to pay about a 100 a month. Emotionally, killing me at least. Don’t they have wives, sisters, and mistresses? What the hell do they use to keep from getting knocked up? What’s going on inside their heads?