Did she just say...super sperm?

Yes, you read right. Super. Sperm. The two words together have kind of a valiant quality to them, don’t they? Images of determined little swimmers come to mind, fighting the elements as they struggle to complete their life’s purpose, capes aloft, faster than speeding bullets…at least, that was what came to my mind when I overheard two girls conversing on the subject in the bathroom one evening.

It was a Friday night, and the music was already pumped up to a speaker-shattering level. Drinks were plenty, we were at capacity and the line outside the bar was getting longer by the minute. It was my turn to complete the much-adored bathroom checks for the later half of the night, and as I left my fellow hostess at the front of the house, I was blissfully unaware of the enlightening gem I was about to stumble upon.

I pushed open the bathroom door and was met with a long cramped line of women waiting for their turn. Needing a break from the loud crowds, I decided to stay in the bathroom and wait to clean up the few glasses in the stalls and on the countertops. It was a good choice.

The speakers in the downstairs women’s bathroom have two settings; way, way, way too loud, to the point where the music is obscured by the death rattle of the exhausted speaker, or off. Tonight it was quiet, and most of the women were silently sipping their cocktails and adjusting their hair in the mirror, except for two, somewhere mid-cluster. We’ll call them Steph and Brittany. Or maybe Brittanie. With a heart over the i.

“Steph, I have like, kind of a weird question.”

My ears perked up. So did the ears of every other woman in line. Steph, a blonde with too much mascara coating her eyelashes, turned to Brittanie.

“So like, I’m on birth control, obviously,” (insert a I’m-so-liberated-and-responsible-but-really-I’m-glad-I-get-to-sleep-around giggle) “so Matt and I can like, do it, without a condom. But I can’t remember if he can, you know...(giggle) cum and not get me pregnant! So I’m like, freaked to let him.”

Ohhh this should be interesting.

Steph gave Brittanie a big wide smile and an oh-thankgod-you-have-me-you’re-wiser-better-prettier-best-friend-to-answer-your-sexual-health-queries pat on the arm.

“Ohmygod, you TO-tally can,” she said. “It’s the whole point! I mean”—here she glanced around the bathroom like she was about to reveal top secret nuclear codes—“I swear when Ben came the other night, I could feel every, single, sperm.”

“Every one??”

“Yeah. I mean, maybe he has like, super sperm or something, but it’s totally crazy. It’s like the best feeling ever.”

A woman in front of me tried to hide her scoff and failed, attempting to make it sound like a cough as she hid her face with her glass. A stall opened and Steph stepped in, leaving Brittanie to contemplate the possibility of Ben’s mutant sperm.

I finished my cleaning sweep and left with a few wine glasses in my hands. A woman who had been washing her hands during the exchange exited behind me.

As we walked back to the bar, she snorted out a laugh.

“He better get that checked out!” she said. “Super sperm…jeeee-zus.”

Still shaking her head, she disappeared into the crowd, undoubtedly eagerly telling her friends, “You’ll NEVER believe what I just heard…”