Fifty fucking bucks, people. That’s what it cost me for ONE pill – a Plan B emergency contraceptive. I kid you not. I’m trying to be ‘responsible’ and ‘prepared’, and this is what it costs me. Fuckin’ A. It is not covered by insurance or Medicaid. Fifty bucks!! Yes, probably cheaper at Planned Parenthood, but that would have required a forty-five minute walk in ninety degree heat. So yeah, it’s my own fault, then.
Really funny, though, was the conversation with the pharmacist, because they have to ask for a photo ID that has your age (you can only get it without a prescription if you are over seventeen). For the record, I’m about to turn forty-two.
Me: Do you sell Plan B?
Pharm: Sure, I need to see some photo ID.
Me: Umm, I don’t have a driver’s license. But you have my birthday in your computer from my insurance.
Pharm: Sorry, I need to see a photo ID.
Me: But you know when my birthday is! You just looked it up for my other prescription, and then you asked me to confirm it. Then you asked me for again it when I came to pick it up!
Pharm: Oh, umm. yeah. I guess that’s ok then. As long as you’re over seventeen.
Did I mention I’m nearly forty-two? I mean, I know I look totally young and hot and all. But jesus, people, FIFTY BUCKS for a pill? How does anyone expect a teenager to be able to afford this? How do they expect an adult to be able to afford this? Oh wait – I know! We’re all just babymaking machines! Fuck us! (literally). And we aren’t supposed to be having sex anyway.