I am a mother. I am a wife. I am a professional. I have interests and hobbies. I work out sometimes. I cook at least once a week. Sorry, meant to say I cook at most once a week. But when I do, I cook multiple meals. And I don’t do white starches… bonus point!
I say all this to communicate the fact that I am a busy woman. I barely have time to floss my own teeth, but I do. Because it’s important. Unless I forget. Which I do. A lot.
Lately, I’ve been forgetting quite a few things — important things. Like packing the kids their lunches or my husband’s first name.
But last Friday was the kicker. I forgot to take my pill. You know the one. THE pill.
There are times when I could forget to take the pill every freakin’ day and it wouldn’t make a difference. There are other times, though, when it MATTERS VERY MUCH. This was one of those times. I was in a semi-state of panic for 5 whole days.
And then I wasn’t.
I decided I needed some help.
Me: Hey you! Husband! Is it Russell? Yeah, Russell. I think you need to get snipped.
Russell: Okay.
Me: Really? You don’t mind.
Russell: Nope. I’m good.
Me: Wait. I’m serious here. You act like it’s no big deal. Like you don’t care one way or the other.
Russell: Of course, I care! This is a big decision. I mean, think about it. I am eliminating my ability to procreate and replenish the Earth should the need arise due to a zombie apocalypse.
Recommended wine: If you or a loved one are planning on getting snipped, I suggest you give it serious consideration over a glass of wine. Try Zombie Zinfandel. It’s blood-red in color (of course) and horridly rich in concentrated fruit flavors with a finish that never dies!
Too funny! It’s a good thing my hubby got snipped because I wouldn’t have a hope of remembering to take The Pill every day. And there is no way we’re procreating any more, even in the event of a zombie apocalypse.
My husband once made me promise to procreate (no matter how old we were) if he was ever working on a space station. He was dead serious. He wanted space babies. He’s either forgotten about this or figures his chances of being deployed to space are pretty slim.
A space baby would be very cool.
Right? Right. Except if I’m 50. Then very very wrong.