Designer Coo

I went to have a drink at Giorgio's Vineria in Campo de’ Fiori with my friend Mayo, who always has his nose deep in a newspaper. And this time was no different. He likes to keep abreast of what is happening in the world, and makes sure I am just as informed. “Hey, d’you hear this? A leading fertility expert said that couples should be entitled to use genetic screening to choose the sex of their babies.’ You see; we’re on the way out. I’m telling you, the penis will soon be little more than a pickled museum exhibit, something future generations of women will look at and wonder what possible use it might have had, or who or what wore it! Ouch! If someone tries to explain, they’ll probably think ‘how tacky’.” He was scandalised.
I laughed.
“‘This ground-breaking proposal will increase pressure on the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority to allow gender selection.’ Can you believe that?”
“It’s progress, Mayo.”
“Hey, dude, I don’t want to see my dick in a specimen jar!”
“Won’t happen.”
“‘To help couples with fertility problems, the use of genetic screening to create ‘designer babies’ is already a fact. The donation of sperm, eggs and embryos from donors with a choice of hair, eyes and hair colour is an everyday reality in fertility clinics.’ Right, I can see it now, designer babies with the doctor’s name tattooed on their ass! You can see what’s happening, right? Put this designer baby business together with cloning and artificial sperm, and that good old fashioned institution called ‘family’ will become history. Oh, and let’s not forget surrogate mothers. Imagine trying to figure out someone’s family tree; it’s gonna drive people insane. I mean, where do you start? A kid spends his life with Mom and Dad, and one day finds out they aren’t Mom and Dad after all. Not his biological Mom and Dad anyway. People are telling him he’s the product of donated sperm, possibly artificial, and a donated egg that evolved in some other woman’s womb for nine months. Kid could end up with some serious head problems.”
“Why don’t you write them a letter?” I quipped.
“Very funny! This is serious shit, dude. You hear about the deaf lesbian couple in Washington?”
It sounded like the classic opening to a joke. “No, I haven't heard about the deaf lesbian couple in Washington,” I replied.
“They chose a deaf sperm donor!”
It wasn’t a great punch line, but I laughed anyway.
“I’m serious.”
“Come on, no one can be that selfish!”
“These girls win the cake. They did it; had a boy. He is as deaf as a post.”
I stopped laughing.
“And they have no intention of giving him a hearing aid. They said they’ll let him decide when he’s grown up.”
“Ah. Now isn’t that sweet of them. They do have a heart after all!”
“Oh, I almost forgot. Did you hear that sex-change marriages have been given the green light?  So you and I can...”
“Mayo," I interrupted, "that’s going to cost you the next round.”
“No, seriously, dude; history’s being made, really. People who change sex will have the right to alter their birth certificates to show their new sex and not their birth sex…”
“So someone of the same sex could end up marrying a transsexual without knowing it!”
“The world’s going mad, dude. The world’s going mad!” A pause. “Look, dude, we’ve been friends a long time, and I've always felt I can talk to you about anything. It's time I told you the truth about me…”
“Mayo!” I warned.
“My name isn’t Mayo!” he continued unperturbed, his voice now several octaves higher, very girly. “It’s…”

"Order the beers, Mayo!"

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