If all were right with the world, I would visit the washroom at some point today to find that I had hit the surf to catch some Crimson Wave heavies. (For those of you who didn’t get that last bit, you’re probably not a woman. Or a surfer dude. So never mind).

But all is not right with the world, for I am a defective with a barren womb. Right now and for the last 10 days, I have been mentally encased in a cloud of cotton balls until July 15 rolls around. At that time I shall bear the crook of my left arm to the world (or the nurse at my lab) and find out if I’m up the duff.

Of course, if I find a little something extra when I pop in to use the loo it’s all moo. Like a cow’s opinion. So I’m sure you can understand my trepidation when it comes to eating and drinking today. The less I have to…..expel, the better my odds of not getting some bad news.

Sorry, did you just say I needed to seek HELP or were you toasting to my good HEALTH? I didn’t quite catch that.

And you know, as much as I whine about the pain and inconvenience of the daily shots and how it makes people cross the street and screen their calls to keep away from me when I’m in the middle of a cycle and how I would never, ever, ever go through a follicle retrieval again, I know deep down inside that I’m not going to quit doing this until someone stops me.

Preferably a small, intelligent, wailing child with my last name, a wicked sense of humour and a tendency to sleep like the dead.

Posted at 5:51 p.m.