Saturday, December 13, 2008

I'm not pregnant. I just can't spit.

My ovaries are pissing me off. When my Doc told me a couple years ago that they weren't being ovary-y enough, I secretly thought the ovary fairy would probably tap me on the abdomen one night while I slept and I'd wake up all girlie and ovarian again.

Now Mr. Doctor is on the ovary bandwagon once more and says the girls have all but quit doing their thing. As you know, ovaries control the baby eggs and a woman's ability to dance slutty for her husband.

That's why I haven't made a baby in close to 15 years and my attempts to woo Mr. Man look like I'm doing the pee-pee dance while trying to suck a popcorn kernel out of my front teeth.

Don't you go worrying about me though because Doc has a plan. A highly scientific plan. A plan so crazy medical, I'm not sure you can even wrap your mind around it.

He's making me spit. In a thingie. And then I'm supposed to slap a stamp on it and mail it to somebody in a lab who will then do God knows what with it.

What if they take out my DNA and make another me? My Daddy used to say it wouldn't take nothing for him to make another one just like me and he didn't even have my spit in a thingie.

Despite my misgivings I'm gonna try and do it because I always do what men in white coats tell me to do. That's why I wash the butcher's car every Thursday and why he could identify my boobs in a police line up.

Not that my boobs have ever been in a police line up but there's always tomorrow.

The only thing that really concerns me is the actual mechanics of the spitting. I'm not much of a spitter. The evidence of that can be found in the numerous pieces of chewed gum stuck to the driver's side of my car. When I was a kid and we'd have watermelon seed spitting contests on balmy southern evenings, I just swallowed mine.

I was more comfortable with the stigma and humiliation of a watermelon induced child pregnancy than with having a slobbery black seed stuck to my chin.

Stay tuned for important updates about my spit and my ovaries. If you're lucky, I'll take pictures. On second thought, I don't know that my digital camera is equipped for that kind of thing so we'll have to see how it goes.

Copyright © 2008 Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

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TSG said...

Ahhh....You really ARE back.
Great new photo too.
Just in case they do clone you, if you wouldn't mind, ask them run off an extra copy for me!
Hmm, do you think they could isolate the sarcasm gene? Never mind, just a thought.


Sher said...

Yes TSG. I really are.

And no - their can be no me without the sarcasm gene. Sorry.

Tidewaterbound said...

Priceless...I can just see you trying to 'spit' now! Oh, and the watermelon seed reference brought back, shall we say, less than stellar memories. I couldn't go the distance either. Then my sister SWORE I was going to grow a watermelon in my belly and I remember running screaming to my mother. smiles to ya Sher!

Sher said...

Those were the days, huh Tide?

Brent Diggs said...

I have no doubt that you'll be all shiny and girly again in no time. Entirely too girly, in fact, to spit.

There's some sort of poetic justice but I'm not sure what it means.

Merry Christmas anyway.

Jami said...

Wait! I always thought that if you couldn't spit you'd explode! OH ... that's something else? Sorry.

Could you just wait until you have a bad cold and just send in a used kleenex? Want me to send you some bad cold? I got more than I can use for Christmas and would be happy to share.