It's official. I gave it three months. And I tried, really tried, to like it. But I don't. I can't. And I am apparently the only person on the planet who feels this way.

I'm talking, of course, about my Alien Communication Device, more commonly known as an IUD. I did extensive-but-not-compulsive research on it before I allowed it to be installed, and everyone who has ever spoken a public word about these things is so enamored of them that they can barely take in a non-shuddery breath when talking about them. Well then, bring on some bliss, I want some of that!

Turns out that they are either all lying liars who lie (with appropriate acknowledgement to Lisa for the pithy phrase) or the unhappy people just don't speak up. Which, the latter? I just flagrantly disbelieve. Have you ever experienced any phenomenon in your whole entire life in which the satisfied customers speak up while the unsatisfied customers sit tranquilly by, hoping benignly that their misfortune doesn't infect you? That's what I thought.

So, then, I'm the only one who just despises my Alien Communication Device. I am uncomfortable almost all the time, which varies in forms from nauseous to crampy to cranky to having the kind of complexion that would get me teased on a high school bus were I to be so self-destructive as to climb back onto one, not to mention the fact that I simply cannot relax around the fact that there is this Device. Inside me. Constantly communicating with the Mother Ship. Ugh.

The good news is, as of Sunday, I have health insurance. So along with the fact that I no longer need to wear a seat belt or look both ways before I cross the street, I can also get the ball rolling on excommunicating myself. And the aliens can just satisfy themselves with communicating with someone else.