I was asked by a lesbian couple to donate sperm for them so they could have a child. I was personally quite honored that they had chosen me and agreed to help with the promise I could visit their kids on occasion and play with them after the birth but with the understanding that I would not try to play the role of a “father” since the child would already have two parents. They didn’t want to go through the expense of a doctor visit, so we were doing artificial insemination at home without a doctor present.

The second or third month of trying, I came to visit them as usual for the donation. I did my regular playtime with their son for a while before finally heading into the bathroom to “do my part.” Usually, once I finish, I hand off my donation and immediately leave so my friend can go do her part immediately without worrying about wasting time on awkward pleasantries. I’ve already said my goodbyes to everyone ahead of time so I can make a quick exit.

This time, just as I came out and handed off the little container with my donation, there was a knock on the door. It turned out that my friend’s father had decided on a surprise visit. After stashing the donation in her room so he wouldn’t see it, my friend answered the door, and eventually, she introduced us.

Friend: “This is my father. Dad, this is our friend, [My Name].”

Father: “Oh, I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s really nice to finally meet you.”

I had honestly never thought to ask how much detail my friend had given her father about trying to conceive. I didn’t know whether her father was aware of the fact that I was donating sperm or if it was just the general stuff you would hear about a friend.

To make matters worse, the father then held out his hand to shake with me. I should point out that there are conflicting claims online that sperm being exposed to air for too long will harm the donation. I honestly think this isn’t an issue for the length of time it takes to hand it off, but just to be safe, I try to rush the donation to my friend after producing it, and amongst other things, that means I put off washing my hands after producing it until I get to my car and can use my hand sanitizer there. While I admit I’ve never been taught what the proper social etiquette is for meeting the father of the lesbian you’re trying to impregnate, I’m pretty sure that, given what I had just been doing in the bathroom, shaking his hand is not recommended.

Me: “Oh, sorry, I’d prefer not to shake hands right now, but it’s really nice to meet you, too.”

Father: “Oh, ’cause of [health crisis]? No problem.”

We were all vaccinated at this point. Considering I’d just been manhandling their son, roughhousing, tickling, throwing him on a couch, and dangling him by his toes, etc., I could hardly claim to have been the most cautious about the crisis; I thought our vaccination was sufficient protection. Still, this seemed as good an excuse as any for not shaking his hand, so I settled for a non-committal sound before my friend came to my rescue.

Friend: “[My Name] was just leaving, actually.”

Me: “Yeah, sorry to run so fast, but I really have to go to get home on time. It was really nice to meet you, though!”

With that, I fled like a coward, mentally wishing my friend good luck with figuring out how to handle her father’s visit while on a deadline to use the donation.

Twenty years ago, I lived in New Jersey just across from New York City. My boyfriend and I worked in one of the buildings around the World Trade Center. I was five months pregnant in September of 2001. My boyfriend’s birthday was on the 11th. We usually made the trip to work together, but the day before, he told me that he was going to take his birthday off. I decided to go to work earlier than usual so I could finish my day early and join him for dinner.

On the 11th, I took the ferry across the Hudson River as usual. Just as I exited the ferry, I — and everyone else — watched as the first plane hit a tower. I stood there in shock. I was not sure what to do. I called my office.

Me: “Hi, [Boss]. I’m outside now. Do you see what is happening? I don’t know what to do.”

Boss: “I can’t tell you. I’m not sure myself.”

As I stood there with others in the street trying to figure out my next move, the second plane hit. Pandemonium struck. People screamed and ran. I started heading back to the ferry terminal. I was in danger of being trampled. I looked around and laid eyes on the biggest, baddest, biker-looking dude that I could imagine. I went to him and tapped him on the shoulder. It was too loud, with the screaming and crying, to talk to him. I got his attention and pointed at my pregnant belly with both hands. That man, that saint, that Earthly angel, put his huge shoulders around mine and started scooting me out of the area toward the ferry.

Big Scary Man: “Move! Move NOW! Pregnant lady here! Get out of the way!”

He escorted me, protected me, enveloped me, all the way to the ferry. He made sure I got on and seated and then he saw the boat off. I lost sight of him in the throng of people trying to exit the island. Maybe he went to help others? I will never know.

My daughter was born several months later and is now a college student. To that man: thank you. You may never know how much you helped me that day.

This story is part of our end-of-year Feel Good roundup for 2021!

Read the next Feel Good 2021 story!

Read the Feel Good 2021 roundup!

I have recently been prescribed general use glasses, and I am thrilled to have them. I am eager to show them off to everyone I know, so I call my best friend and tell her I’m coming over to let her see my surprise.

She has her garage open and is cleaning it out while her young daughter plays. When I pull up on the curb and get out of my car, the daughter comes running up to me and I pick her up to let her see my glasses. A moment later, my friend comes running from around her own car and then stops.

Friend: “You look so different with those on.”

Me: “Were you about to scream, ‘Put my child down! Help! Kidnapper!’?”

Friend: “I only saw you out of the corner of my eye, so I was about to attack you, yes.”

I am eight months pregnant and a bartender. I get a lot of funny looks and am occasionally questioned whether I should work in a bar, but this woman customer takes the cake.

Customer: “Are you pregnant?”

Me: “I am! She’s due next month!”

Customer: “You might want to quit your job now.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “It’s illegal for pregnant women to be around alcohol!”

Me: “One, no, it’s not, and two, it’s my decision and the boss’s whether I work here or not. This is how I earn a living.”

Customer: “Quit your job right now!”

Me: “[Coworker], can you take over here? I’ll handle your end.”

He took over for the woman, and she continued to glare at me. Later, the manager told me, laughing like crazy, that I refused to quit my job and the woman was going to report us. The manager told her to go ahead. The woman actually tried to complain to the police, and they laughed at her.

Related:
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 24
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 23
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 22
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 21
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 20

A customer comes up with her six-year-old kid. As I’m checking out her various items on the counter, she decides to grab the pepper spray that she is purchasing and test it out by spraying it on the floor.

She gives the bottle several good spritzes before I realize what is happening, but it is already too late. My eyes start watering. She starts coughing. I somehow manage to finish up the transaction and get her out the door.

The worst part is that my manager won’t let me close down my till for a little while to let the spray dissipate, so I had to stand there for the next several hours in the fumes from this lady’s stupidity. I really need to find another job.