Sisterhood of the Traveling Hormones (Monday)

There are two types of sisterhoods in this life: 1) Ones you sign up for

2) Ones life violently throws you into head first   

Guess which one infertility is? 

Personally, I've never signed up for a sisterhood in my life. In fact, you might say I've avoided them like the plague.

The idea of  joining  a group with a bunch of other females as friends and comrades seems like a harmless concept in itself, but somehow it never seems to work out that way for me. 

Instead of a sisterhood they somehow, to me anyway, turn into an angry cult ... like a sorority or the girl scouts. Especially the girl scouts.  

The girl scout cookie season like college basketball season appear to be growing longer and longer every year...

I can't count how many stores in my tri-state area I've researched and found alternate exits to...

Being assaulted by a barrage of pint-sized cookie peddlers is one's the moms, staking out the parking lot who shove their daughter into heavy, hunting-for-the-closest-parking-space-to-the-front- door-traffic so she won't miss out on a potential customer, that not only annoys me no end, but freaks me out quite a bit. 

I do like to see the oncoming uniforms though. I appreciate the warning that danger is approaching.

It's the same grateful feeling I experience when I'm doing ninety on the highway and I see a marked police car parked on the shoulder.    

So, this week I won't be kvetching about the ills of the girl scout cult. We will be discussing, however, the Sisterhood of the Traveling Hormones. That would be us. All of us who never asked to be part of this stinky infertility sisterhood, but whom life violently through us into head first.

If I might take just another second to mention the girl scout whom my husband mentioned to me about a year or so ago. Apparently she was on TV crying hysterically because she had worked so hard selling her cookies and somebody stole the money. My husband ending the story by saying:

"What a loser!"

And I said, "Come on. How insensitive can you be? This little girl worked so hard and somebody stole her money."  To which he replied:

"Yeah, I feel really bad. She's like seventeen."   

Listen, I gotta go. I'll talk with ya again tomorrow.

And if you have the urge to subscribe to this blog. Please don't fight it. We'd love to have ya! I promise I won't make you stand outside Wal-mart and force cookies on the innocent.