Like yeast, I will rise to the occasion.

It’s 104 degrees outside. This means that I want nothing more than to lie in bed in my underwear, reading, with the air conditioner blowing directly on me.

There is nothing sexy about this. It’s truly the only comfortable thing I can fathom that doesn’t involve a large body of water, and possibly a boat. Since we have been unsuccessful at goading any of our friends into purchasing a boat? I dream of the underwear / bed / book / AC combo.

Instead? We are hosting My Guy’s entire family this weekend. He is one of 5 siblings. When the entire family gathers, I find myself a bit … well, more than a bit … overwhelmed. It’s yet another gathering that awakens my inner Foxie Doxie and makes me want to hide under the covers.

The in-laws? Are good people. And I will get my hands on our new nephew for the first time. So, this is exciting.

However … now that we’ve been married for lo these 15 months, I am bracing myself for questions of the “So, when are you having kids?” variety.

My Guy and I got some news today that probably put the final nail in the proverbial fertility coffin. As in, for real? If we have a biological child, it will most likely mean the second coming is upon us. And since I’m not a virgin? I’m pretty sure that I would not be the first choice to carry Jesus The Deuce.

So, yeah. The oven? Empty. No buns.

We’re reeling a bit. And cleaning, and running to the grocery store, and wondering just how crazy Crazy SIL’s new boyfriend might be.

Maybe all of this activity will provide our collective married-couple subconscious with a nice opportunity to work through some of this information. But if somebody asks about the functioning of my ladyoven, and why we don’t just get with the program and pop out some younguns already?

Well … so far, I have a handful of possible responses. Vote for your favorite, or suggest your own!

Option 1: Run crying out of room. Lock self in bathroom, where flask of brown likker will be hidden.
Option 2: Pick up nearest piece of furniture. Break it over head of imbecile who asked rude question. Turn to other family members and start random conversation about this summer’s tomato crop, as if nothing unusual just happened.
Option 3: Take a deep breath and channel inner Julia Sugarbaker. Be ridiculously poised and gorgeous, and carefully enunciate 1 of these bons mots:

  • Bon mot 1: Honey, how sweet of you to be concerned with such sensitive areas! And by sensitive areas, of course I mean my lady areas.
  • Bon mot 2: Now, you know the judge said My Guy isn’t supposed to procreate, what with that criminal insanity and all.
  • Bon mot 3: Well, we’re still trying to figure out, umm … S-E-X. Is it really supposed to work the way the books say? Can you show us?

Help me out. What option do you think would pack the most STFU punch?

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