Dear Jezebel: Thanks For Telling Me About That Plan B Stuff. Think I'm Pregnant?

It may shock you to know that here at Jezebel we don't think of ourselves as sex educators. Or really, "educators." Or really anything besides mindless crap. But we're so flattered when you disagree! Here, from our mailbag, is a little story about a lady who was inspired to take Plan B after our Friday post announcing its over-the-counterness only like a year late. We're not sure what to tell her about her latest problem...

Dear Jezebel, thank you for your sage advice and service journalism. You are right that pulling out is probably the best method of contraception [Joke! -Ed.], but today you deserve a special thanks for conquering your hangovers for long enough to inform me you could get Plan B, the morning-after-pill, over-the-counter, for the times when I forget that and make the silly mistake of using condoms. Because the day after your post one got stuck inside me and boyyyy was that fun...

I was hungover and it was 7 a.m., so naturally, when he pulled it out and we noticed he was no longer, um, sheathed, my first inclination was to roll over and let the sleep gods gently ease it out of me. "You're not going back to sleep!" insisted my partner, who should not have even been capable of speech at that point, and commenced digging.

"I don't think it's in there," I said.

"Ok, where is it then?" he said. "Your vagina definitely ate it.

"Hahaha, 'snatch.'" I said. "OUCH."

I retreated to the bathroom to take care of it. I could not. It was like my innards were covered in balloons. OWWWWWWW. Then I had a stroke (heh) of genius: Lube! The partner went back to work, and within a few minutes the rubber had been retrieved.

"So I guess we should go get Plan B," I said. "Now that I know the FDA approves."

As we walked the crosswalk en route to the drug store, we heard a car smack. It sounded bad, but not that bad, until we watched, as if in slow motion, a grocery delivery van flip on its side and commence spewing organic food and gasoline. Approximately six feet away from us. The partner ran forward to pull out the driver, who wriggled out with almost miraculous ease, and then the partner pulled a water bottle from the pile of groceries and handed it to him. So quick and so brave, my fuck buddy! So fleeting and fragile, human life! I should have at that moment thought, "maybe I should save fifty bucks and let fate take its course..." I did not.

We walked into store. "Where do you keep the Plan B?" he asked the pharmacist. "We need it because we had sex." She referred us to the "Consultations" counter.

"We'd like to get some Plan B," he said cheerily to the pharmacist.

"How much do you want?"

"Um, just one."

"You said 'some.' I didn't know if you wanted to Plan B for the future!"

I interrupted, "I think we'll be using the withdrawal method from now on."

"You have ID?" the pharmacist asked.

"I'm 28 years old," I said. Of course I didn't have an ID. It was 8 in the morning and I had sex last night.

"I have ID," the partner interjected.

We went upstairs to buy cigarettes. "Date of birth?" the cashier asked.

"Oh no, we just bought Plan B!" She laughed. He grinned, as though he'd just knocked me up ON PURPOSE, and we kissed goodbye. I took the first pill, and twelve hours later, when I remembered I was supposed to take a second pill, I couldn't find it anywhere.