then ovulation doesn’t even happen. I didn’t think that was going to be one of the things I had to put on my List of Unexpected Worries. But apparently the vicious O’Hare-laden, wounded sleep schedule travel thing I do at least monthly affects more than just my mood. Unless I used the ovulation predictor sticks at the wrong time.
Oh, and I forgot to mention that. One other sign that involves less bodily prodding and star-gazing and quite a bit more handing over of cash than the list of fabulous options below is the very scientific Ovulation Predictor Kit made up of thick white plastic-wrapped sticks you can pee on daily and gaze at with intense concentration, wondering if you should have peed on two that day. Again, the books offer complicated and varying advice and to make matters worse, the kits are also now available in boxes of not just 7, but 20. I refuse to be so obsessive as to use all 20 in one month. I’m bored just thinking about it.
Also, I’ve noticed that I have a tendency to hover over the toilet, unwrap the stick, pee, finish peeing, and then realize I’m out of valuable midday pee and apparently treating this ovulation stick like a tampon. A tampon with nowhere to go. Because it isn’t a tampon, it’s a stick I was supposed to pee on masquerading as a tampon so as to further complicate this already absurd situation. And it’s laughing at me.
I have nothing more to say about this. Except that I’m busy learning Relaxation Techniques so I can avoid the humiliation of 7 days of blank, peed-on sticks. Which I’m saving, by the way, with dates written in sharpie on the handle so I can give this baby a tractor trailer full of the waste it was responsible for before it was even conceived.
