Galway Review 8 - April 2020

‘Have you cooled down yet?’ asked her friend Pam
on the other end of the line.
‘How well you know me. Thanks to his Lordship, or
should that be his Grace, I’ve made one decision, that
is, one to start with.’
‘Shoot,’ said Pam.
‘I’m going on the Pill,’ Rhoda announced as if she
was declaring war on humanity itself.
. ‘Oh, you bad woman,’ said Pam, ‘what’s kept you so
long?’
‘I wish I knew the answer to that one.’
‘It’s because you’re waiting for carte blanche from
His Holiness in Rome.’ Pam informed her in that
supercilious voice she used when she felt ahead of the
posse. ‘In this country,’ she articulated following a long
drag on her cigarette, ‘the Pill is permitted as a cycleregulator
only. You remember the rhythm method, my
child? Don’t you? It’s the one that got you the five
kids.’
‘No need to go up that road,’ said Rhoda.
‘Absolutely not; it’s up the garden path for you, every
single time he as much as hangs his trousers on the end
of the bed.’
‘Not any more,’ replied Rhoda. ‘Now that I’ve had
another lesson in how I’m regarded as a woman, I’m out
of season for the rest of my natural life and that’s flat.’
‘But remember’ came the reply, ‘you can’t tell Doctor
Deering that when you ask him for the Pill. He thinks
he’s Christ Almighty. You have to say it’s to regulate
your cycle. On top of that you may have to get your
husband’s consent.’
38