Dear Mr. DeLillo,
I am writing to you because my husband reads your column and I am hoping that you might respond to my letter as an objective observer. Then my husband might read your reply and see reason.
We have been trying to get pregnant with no success. I think we need to see a fertility specialist but my husband is a progressive Christian and he thinks that pregnancy is a product of God’s will. He thinks that seeing a fertility specialist would be like telling God that we think that we know better than He what is best for us. I agree with him but lately I have been wondering if God made my husband and I meet in this enlightened age with access to drugs and therapies instead of a hundred years ago or something because he wants us to have children. With that in mind, I went to see a fertility specialist on my own. After some tests the physician told me that my body was fertile and ready for a child and that the problem probably lies with my husband’s sperm count. How should I convince my husband to go with me to see the doctor? Please Help!
—Seriously Considering Agonizing Natal Conundrum
Your husband is a “progressive Christian?” Context clues tell me that is a person who thinks doctors are sinful and that reading magazines with photos of women punching themselves in the brown eye with a black rubber fist is sacred. Progressive Christianity is like having your cake and eating it out of a whore’s vagina, too.
This reply might be short. I accidentally cut off my hand with the chainsaw I keep on my desk. It must be God’s will that I bleed to death. To use a tourniquet would be like telling God that I know better than he when I ought to die. Just joking. My arm is intact. I was just making a point. The point is obvious but I’ll be crystal clear and tell you that the point was that you and your husband are total fucking idiots.
There are other ways to look at the situation. You’re trying to put a happy face on it but you asked me to be objective. Let me point out a couple of possibilities you have not considered. God might have intended for you to meet in this age of drugs and therapy. It is totally possible that he loves the two of you more than the millions and millions of barren people who lived generations before now who did not have your blessings. Yes. I’m sure that’s it. God loves you more. You are very special. He just didn’t love you enough to give you a husband who has jizz worth ejaculating into a crusty t-shirt (like the one under my bed) or a crusty vagina (like the one under your paunch). That brings me to the other possibility: God hates you because you are an egomaniacal ignorant bitch who gives in to temptation like Eve to an apple and disobeys her husband by seeing a doctor. That's why God gave you a husband who waves off doctors with one hand while jacking off to porno magazines with the other. Another possibility is that your husband hates you as much as God obviously does and wants to leave you, and that is the reason that he does not want to have children.
Sometimes God works in mysterious ways and other times his actions are no-brainers. Giving your mongoloid husband a low sperm count was a gift to all of mankind, and I for one am down on my well-calloused knees thanking him right now. It is unusual to look up from this position and see anything other than a misshapen sack, but I will adjust to my situation as you must adjust to yours. God hates you.
All The Best,
Cesar Augustus DeLillo