Very recently Dr. Steven Kaali came up with a birth control device
which is quite novel. It creates a low-level electrical field (3.3
volts) across the cervix. Said field dispenses of nosy sperm quite
adequately, thank you; it blocks them from their objective, and then
kills them. Sort of an intra-body Star Wars without the lasers.
Now, this is quite modern and fascinating and gee-whiz and everything.
I can't envision anybody objecting save competing birth control manufacturers,
or perhaps the Pope, who doesn't seem particularly concerned about
the population explosion.
So far the method has only been tested on baboons, a reasonable facsimile
to Homo Sapiens if ever there was one. I don't know if baboons have
an active imagination or not, but the first woman to sport this unique
contraption may very well find herself with an uneasy partner. Their
possible conversation, in a one-act play:
The time: The near future.
The setting: A bedroom somewhere. Or perhaps under a kitchen table.
It doesn't really matter.
Him, feeling decidedly romantic: Your eyes are like shimmering
pools of liquid moonlight. Your skin is delicate and waxlike. I can
sense a burning within. Are you ill?
Her, in a stage of abandonment: Your hair is the finest barbed-wire.
Your arms, so muscular and tattooed. No, I am not ill Take me!
Him: Take you where?
Her: To oblivion and beyond!
Him: I know this is kind of an awkward time to bring this up,
but I forgot to go to the drug store. Are you protected? Oblivion
has its price.
Her: You're in luck.
Him: Oh, good.
Half a minute passes. Her attention is apparently elsewhere.
Her: Well, aren't you interested in what I'm using?
Him: Of course I'm interested, darling. Tell me. Later.
Her: My mother always told me to never put off for later what
you can do now.
Him: Ummmmm. Your mother. (Sighs.) Well, you might as well
tell me, now.
Her: It's new. It runs on batteries.
Him: No kidding.
Her: No kidding. My doctor said that it makes an electrical
field which kills your... well, you know... very conveniently. Neat,
Him: Yeah, neat. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Your kisses are
the sweetest nectar, your nose--
Her: Go on, go on!
Him: Electric, did you say?
Her: Yes, yes. Electric. Now about my nose--
Him: Electric as in amperes and volts?
Her: I suppose.
Him: Down THERE?
Her: Where else?
Him: I don't know about this.
Her: Oh, don't be silly. It can't hurt you. My doctor said
it has only half the charge as a little bitty watch battery. Now,
about my nose--
Him, attempting to get back into the spirit of things: Your
nose is the finest porcelain, your--
Her: Yes, yes!
Him: What if it short-circuits?
Her: My nose?
Him: No, no. That thing you're using. What if it short-circuits
while I'm... well, you know.
Her: I suppose you'll get the shock of your life.
Him: That's not very funny.
Her: Oh, please stop worrying! It's harmless, really. It was
tested on baboons.
Him: That's a comforting thought.
Her: It was also tested on humans. Nobody got shocked.
Him, not convinced: There's always a first time.
Her: Do you think the FDA would lie to us?
Him: I think maybe I'll run to the drug store--
Her: Never mind. I feel a headache coming on, anyway.
As you can see, the consequences might be dire. It's like flying:
you know it's safer than driving a car, but just the thought of being
35,000 feet in the air...
Bowling Green News, December 1986