Those of us who have elected not to have children are often faced with the same questions over and over again. We’ve come to call it “Breeder Bingo,” based on a boardroom game called “Bullshit Bingo.” Questions and statements like “You’ll change your mind,” “it’s different when it’s your own,” and “who will take care of you when you’re old?” are so common and predictable, they could fill a bingo card. From there, it doesn’t take long after discovering that one is childfree that enough statements can arise to create a Bingo, if not fill the entire card.

This story is about one particular instance when someone tried to use a Bingo against me. Usually my hindsight is the master of comebacks and I think of the perfect thing to say some time later. Sherman, set the Wayback Machine for 2000, that heady year when we all thought computers were going to kill us. Well, they didn’t, and so it seemed safe to attend my brother-in-law’s wedding. At the reception, my wife (at the time) and I had waited in line and gotten our first serving of food. We didn’t know if it would be okay to get seconds yet, but then some kids went for seconds, so we said to each other that it was okay. Some great-aunt-in-law (or somesuch, but hereinafter referred to as Greataunt) said something like “When you two have kids, they’ll lead the way for you too.”

The villain still pursues them.

Seriously? I got Bingoed? I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want it to make a scene at someone else’s wedding, so I just quietly shrugged it off, and said “We’re not planning to have kids.” I made sure to use the word “planning” so there would be enough ambiguity so as not to be controversial. Well, Bingo wasn’t enough; Greataunt had to go for Blackout: “But God wants you to have children, they’re a blessing from the Lord.”

Now I’m not religious, but I can play along. So now, it was Story Time. So I told her the following story:

Doctor, set the TARDIS coordinates for 1998. That heady year when we were all looking forward to Prince’s career being revived next year. I was so certain I didn’t want kids I sought a consultation for a vasectomy. I found a good doctor that was willing to do it, and with my insurance, the co-pay was only $50. So, I showed up on V-day, paid my $50 and went to the doctor’s office. Well, there was a complication and I’d rather not spoil this lovely wedding reception with the sordid details, but it meant I’d have to reschedule so he could do the procedure at the hospital. The receptionist gave me back my $50 and told me I’d have to pay at the hospital.

So, I go to the hospital, the procedure goes perfectly, but no one asks me for any money. I check with the doctor, the hospital, and my health insurance over the next couple of months, and everyone says I’m outstanding, but my balance is not.