Fag Hag Diary

Mommy Dearest.

The Fag Hag had a bit of a run-in with her new doctor the other day. It wasn’t because she caught me rifling through her cabinet for industrial sized prescription painkillers (I was cleared of those allegations you’ll find). It wasn’t because I had given her husband herpes (although the way I’m feeling towards her now that day could be merely moments away). It was all because I had forgotten to have children.

‘I see you’re over 35,’ she said, frowning like a pre-botox Madonna straining to reach the notes in Live To Tell. ‘And you have no children at all?’

Fag Hag frowned back. ‘Er, not to my knowledge, no.’

The doctor looked like she was about to tell me the cancer had spread to my brain. ‘Well, I have to tell you as your doctor you’re leaving it very late.’

‘But I don’t even know if I want them.’

‘I don’t want to see you in here having to have IVF in a few years…’

‘But I don’t even know if I…’

‘I mean, fertility rates plummet after 35.’

‘Is this remotely relevant to my current health?’

‘Well, er, it’s…’

‘Did I even mention wanting children?’

‘No, but…’

‘Well then, frankly, it’s none of your business is it? I think we’re done. Thank you. Good day.’

After changing doctors to someone who doesn’t spend their spare time writing leader columns for the Daily Mail I decided to share my fury with Fag Hag Mum. ‘I mean, darling, how dare she assume you’re not gay!’

Poor Fag Hag Mum. Such a disappointment to her…

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