Ford Should Specialize in Fertility

For those of you paying attention to the sj womb watch, which for those that know me is only mildly more fascinating than the brangelina womb watch, we’ll be drinking prosecco with KAT tomorrow night for card night. (hey- which reminds me, KAT, are you in for card night?)

Mother nature is having her flirty little way with my reproductive system, which has hitherto been a normal 27 day set your clock kind of deal. This month, it was 32. Maybe that’s a sign. I should wait until I’m 32, since clearly, 27 no longer works for my body.

My reproductive organs and I have a long and fascinating history that hasn’t always been pleasant. I’m trying to be nice to them so I can count on them in the clutch – but it’s hard to rely on things that may or may not work when you want them to. Besides, they cause me physical pain and no one likes a bully.

Let’s take flora for instance. My lovable six-year old focus has developed a bit of a bladder problem. Inside the car. She seems to collect water on the passenger side. I don’t get it – and the crack in my windshield is over the driver side and the water may or may not be there after a rainy day. And it seemed to start when they replaced the pillar trim. The mildew-y smell is a little icky, but I can get over it with some Yankee Candle car scents. I blast the heat on the floor boards and fantasize about my next car – a Volvo… or-or-or – a Chrysler Pacifica (I may be the only one who loves that car) or-or-or a Passat Wagon.

I deal with these little flora-quirks because she loves me back. she starts when I need her to start, she gets there with little gas and she sings to me beloved BNL and Diana Krall songs that get me through my commute.

I wish I could say the same for my ovaries. They don’t sing to me. They don’t warm my feet. And getting them to work would cost nearly as much as a Passat Wagon.