My Private Infertility: Trying To Keep Everyone's Nose Out Of My Uterus (Wednesday)

(Start with "Monday" if you can. My blog is like a soap opera. If you don't follow it every day for thirty years you'll never forgive yourself.) So what were we talking about? Oh right. How to get people to mind their own business as mundane as their own business may be.

And that's really what I think this is about.

In my opinion, people close to you are not entitled to any information about your personal chromosomal, reproductive, conceptional business, but you can at least understand why they want to know. When their nose is in your business, at least their heart is in the right place. 

Then there are the extraneous yentas in your life who just want to know because it seems like there might be something  juicy there to write about on her Facebook wall. 

An hour ago she wrote about shopping for underwear at  Target. Twenty minutes ago she wrote about trying on said underwear at Target. Ten minutes ago she wrote about waiting in line to pay for same underwear at Target. Five minutes ago she wrote about driving the underwear to its new home.

Two minutes ago, she wrote about trying on the underwear again at home. Thirty seconds ago, she wrote about how the underwear fit much better at the store. (Maybe she shouldn't have treated the underwear to KFC  on the way to its new home.)

Eight seconds ago, she wrote about the injustice of Target's no-return policy on underwear. And in another minute she's going to post photos about the whole madcap episode.

Then she's out of wall crap.

And then you walk into her room, her office, her web:  Just as she's in the market for some new crap to sling onto her wall.

Your only defense: The "Prying Lying" game.  There's only one rule:             You pry.   I lie.  

I invented this game because some busy-body nobody, someone I barely knew once asked: "You're not doing those shot treatments are you?"

I pretended I thought she said "shock treatments" and responded:  "Well, I did have a lobotomy, but that doesn't make me a bad person."

So here are some examples to get you started:

Someone comes up to you and asks: "Why don't you have any kids?"

Acceptable responses:

"I don't want any kids. I had an abusive childhood: My mother always beat me at Scrabble."

"I misplaced some of my chromosomes last year along with my library card and my remote control. The doctor told me there's a chance I would give birth to a stuffed animal."

"I'm really a man."

"I'm planning to adopt Brad and Angelina's kids when they're done with them."

"I strongly believe it would be inhumane to bring a child into the world today. I'm waiting until there's peace in the Middle East, economic stability around the globe, and no oil flowing through the elementary school water fountain."

"We think my mother, father, and in-laws would all make lousy grandparents so we're just waiting for all of them to die."

"I'm lactose intolerant and don't want to risk passing it on to a baby."

"My husband and I don't believe in pre-marital or during-marital sex."

"I figured I waited this long to have kids, I may as well go for the Guinness Book record."

Yes, I agree. Some of the responses are sick. The point is:  If they ask what they shouldn't ask, they get whatever they get.    

Listen, I gotta go. I want to get my soda and chips ready. There's an exercise show coming on that I never miss.  I'll talk with ya tomorrow.

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