Last week, my roommate Gwen and I were doing our weekly grocery shopping, when we walked down the personal hygiene aisle and saw the two for one condom sale. Double the amount of protected sex for the price of a Venti Caramel Macciatto. That's when Gwen made the comment that every time she's hung out with Jack, he's always had a new package of condoms on the coffee table. Ew. And yet she still went over to his house. Gross.
Apparently, Gwen had been seeing Jack again. She wanted to let him know, more than anything, if they decided to stop having sex, she cherished his friendship for she saw a smart and kind soul in him. Guess the sex was that good. Still, I pointed out to Gwen that condoms last for a while, as obvious to the one I have from middle school. If he was constantly changing them out, it was obvious he was using them with other people. And that's when Gwen said it was good he was using protection, because the three times they had sex, they never used a condom.
Jack said he was clean and Gwen knew she was on birth control, so of course, all was good. And then after they had sex, they rode off onto a rainbow on their matching glittering unicorns, while eating non-weight gaining, chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. At her age, did she really believe everything a guy told her? And if that was true then Gwen really needed to get tested and see if she was a walking sexually transmitted disease.
So, she made an appointment, for both her and myself. She said it would be a fun-roommate-bonding-type thing to do. Yeah. Because knowing if whether or not you'll have to take large amounts of Kaletra or Hydrea for the rest of your life is always fun. I didn't wanna take the test. Not that I've been having a lot of sex, but if you only knew how they administer the test to men, you wouldn't want to take it either. Plus, who wants to hear they have gonorrhea? And if nothing itches or smells funny, then it should all be good, right?
Thursday night, we went to the free clinic. It was so nerve wracking to sit in an empty doctor's office, awaiting for my number to be called and have a college-aged medical professional tell me my fate. And yet, Gwen seemed to remain calm. She wasn't worried. She felt healthy, so she was obviously okay. But I was healthy too, so why I was worried? I wasn't the one having unprotected sex and that weird cough I got the other week was because I was just thirsty. Right? Right?! Unfortunately, I never found out because when my number was called, they discovered they "were all out of free tests," which let me breathe a big sigh of relief. So, they sent both Gwen and I to BestD on Brady, a gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered and questioning friendly testing center, where apparently it was boys night out. Or girls night, depending on how one views such things.
At this clinic, patients were called out by a series of three letters of their choosing. Gwen chose G-E-N and I chose W-T-F. Why the flip was I doing this again? For a "fun" roommate bonding experience? At that point, I realized maybe Gwen asked me to do the test with her because deep down, she knew she could have something since she wasn't having safe sex. I immediately felt better. Call it schendenfreude if you will, but I felt this wave of tranquility come over me and I knew my test would come out negative, in the good way. And it did. And so did Gwen's test, who cried tears when she got her results. Except, she had to stay a little bit longer with a counselor who explained to her the dangers of unprotected sex. Apparently, Milwaukee ranks as the number one city in the U.S. for chlamydia and number three for gonorrhea. Guess we know now, how folks here pass the time during the winter months.
So, Gwen and I decided to abstain from sex during our time here. It makes sense, since apparently head cheese grows as rapid as the cheese they cultivate here. And with that lovely image burned into your head, it's time to end this post.
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