by MIA FREEDMAN
“Did you have a plan for your placenta?” the woman asked me earnestly. She was pregnant. I was confused.
We’d only just met at a BBQ and as she repeated her question, I cocked my head quizically like a Labradoodle trying to understand a complex sentence. I’d never heard the words ‘plan’ and ‘placenta’ together and I was having trouble reconciling them.
“Huh? You mean did I, like, cook it or bury it in the garden?” She shook her head. “No, I mean when you gave birth did you have a plan for how your placenta would be delivered?”
Blink. “Um, out of my vagina? Does that count as a plan?”