“It’s like online shopping without seeing what you’re buying,” Delaney adds.

“How are you possibly supposed to say a green-eyed, five-foot-ten, college-educated man with no murder convictions is enough?” “Absolutely,” Penny says, setting her wineglass down with a resounding smack. You think it’s reasonable to want a handsome donor, right? In addition to all the other things that are obviously critical. “We all want a cute elephant baby for our matriarchy,” Penny says, patting my hand. My girls shake their heads in unison, defending my stance. “And let’s be honest, looks do matter,” Delaney adds. “Unfortunately, we’re just going to have to imagine,” Delaney says, with a heavy sigh. This guy is six feet, has blue eyes, played hockey in high school, went to UCLA, and works in tech. Penny points to the screen, reading another donor’s profile in frustration. It’s actually quite rare to even see high school or college photos, since a lot of donors only do it because it’s anonymous.” Every now and then you hear of a woman who’s seen adult photos of her donor, but that’s highly unusual, and only allowed at a few, select banks.

“In most cases, only childhood photos of donors are posted. “Anyone else? And are we ever going to see what they look like besides when they were five years old?” Penny swipes left dramatically as if the new donor is a Tinder no. “I think I’d like the choice whether they should have red hair or not, and clearly I’m only bringing recessive genes to the equation.” And he has red hair,” Delaney reads, then runs her fingers over the ends of my hair. We’re gathered around my iPad at Speakeasy, our favorite Midtown haunt, perusing the latest offerings on a bank I’ve been in touch with in Manhattan.

“Ooh, look! A new one just was added to the database,” Penny coos in excitement as she points to the screen.

Hard Wood by Lauren Blakely