Ok, I've had enough of the Biological clock jokes. I know I turn 25 this year. On a positive note, women in Britain are freezing their eggs, just in case Mr. Right walks in on them really late. Erm. I haven't considered the option but I don't think frozen eggs are going to help my case. First, they freak me out. Second, OK, its just weird.
Tuesday, 5 April 2011
A friend very sympathetically suggested adoption if I cannot garner the courage to reproduce. But adoption is so another ball-game. I mean, it's like shopping. Part of it is just cruel. It's more like searching for the perfect brand for some people. A lot of people won't admit it, but seriously that's what it is. Look at Angelina Jolie's multicultural baby collection. It's almost as if she wants to establish her own civilization soon. And Madonna. Seriously? Yeah, yeah. Africa is good press. I'm not anti-adoption but of late, I mean, it just sounds a little out-there. I'd love to adopt a cute little baby and not know where it came from or how it did. Now, that's difficult isn't it?
Coming back to the subject of my hyper-sensitive, clinically depressed ovaries. They seem pretty happy being out of work at the moment. They would prefer if no one asked about their well-being. So in case you are one of those who wants to point out that they'd be wheezing by the time I hit 30, trust me, you needn't worry. They are prepared to work overtime. But, really, enough with the questions.