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Friday, August 26, 2005


I am quite poor. Grad-student poor. Last year, when I was also poor, I came across an ad in the Daily Pennsylvanian soliciting egg donors. Jewish egg donors with a "proven record of academic achievement" no less. Compensation up to $60,000. That's right, I emailed the firm. And although I'm quite short, I'm also a nice Jewish girl with blue eyes and fantastic standardized test scores, not to mention musical ability. Apparently I'm an excellent candidate. And since I don't think I want kids of my own, it isn't like my ova are really doing anything in there, they might as well be useful, right? And frankly, I could use the cash. Hell, I'd probably settle for $20,000.

Yes, I know the idea of having my genetic material floating out there and growing up is creepy. And the badness of massive superovulation-inducing daily hormone injections. And let's not talk to much about the egg harvesting procedure, which involves the words "needle" and "intravaginal." These are all very good reasons egg donation gave me pause, despite the zeroes. Oh, and the whole buying designer babies thing - the class issues of assisted reproduction weird me out a bit.

No, what it came down to was that I had this image of a little me being raised by a nice Jewish family in Westchester or Merrick or some hellish upper-middle-class suburb and just being the most wretchedly disappointing creature ever. Since despite my actual religious observance (and I most certainly do practice) by most surface measures I am a spectacularly bad Jew. There's the tattoo, for starters. And the unholy love of bacon. And the fact that I've never actually dated someone Jewish, since most of the Jewish guys I meet are far too nebbishy and I am just so not sleeping with that. I seem to fall for WASPs, specifically lapsed Presbyterians, though I've got my sights on a Congregationalist at the moment. I mean, I thought Presbyterian was as WASPy as one could get until I met someone whose distant ancestor basically founded Congregationalism back when Massachusetts was still a colony. I mean, that is like the apex of fabulous New England WASPism, is it not? Yum.

So I can foresee this poor hypothetical child from my egg being about 16, her parents trying to get her to date nice Jewish boys and avoid pork products crying and freaking out because she just doesn't understand why all her fantasies involve bacon and tall skinny WASPs. She won't be able to stop fantasizing about whipping Presbyterians with slabs of bacon, and one day she'll just jump off a bridge and it will have been my fault.

And I just couldn't do that to an innocent child. One person in this world fantasizing about WASPy boys and bacon is more than enough.


Blogger The Retropolitan said...

I fantasize about WASPy girls and bacon. What does that make me?

10:04 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

woo-hoo! lapsed congregationalists! i think i count, given that my parents are still members of the first congregational church of milford


12:41 PM  

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