(Start with "Monday" if you can. I began a very lively discussion about being exhausted. You won't want to miss it. And if you'd like some more of my shenanigans... Please subscribe to this blog for a weekly newsletter about happenings and why I wrote what I wrote that week (followed by any necessary apologies.)) So, what were we talking about? Oh right. This is "Sweep Week". Not to be confused with "Sweeps Week" on TV when shows all put on their best episodes so they won't get canceled.
No, this is "Sweep Week": The days following National Infertility Awareness Week when we have to clean up the mess we all left behind with our big National Infertility Awareness Week celebration bashes. And with 7.3 million of us infertiles out there celebrating, you need one helluva dust pan.
I wonder if bin laden was really found last week and was inched out of the news until now by all of the hoopla surrounding National Infertility Awareness Week. Could the media have concealed the info from us just waiting for the excitement from National Infertility Awareness Week to die down?
Or maybe they just thought there would be more interest in the National Infertility Awareness Week scoop than the old tired bin laden story. I mean there are 7.3 million of us and only one of him.
(Could you imagine Anderson Cooper?: "Great! Right in the middle of National Infertility Awareness Week! They couldn't have found him last week? Why am I so well-dressed? Nobody's going to even tune in to see me? Oh, why do I even bother?! I'm a Vanderbilt.Who needs this sh-t?)
There's nothing like the infectious energy that's in the air right before National Infertility Awareness Week. Everyone's in good spirits. The hustle and bustle in the city. 7.3 million infertile people and their loved ones running out to do last minute gift shopping before the stores close.
The biggest seller at this time of year is a special combo gift pack sold only at BJ's that features 40 pounds of tissues and 40 pounds of chocolates. It's called: "Bitter Sweets".
It may not be in the best of taste, but still preferable, I think, to the gift idea they used to feature this time of year: A six foot high ice sculpture in the shape of an upper outer quadrant of a buttock with the slogan:
"All the ice your ass will ever need."
Then, all of the infertiles tune their TV's to see Dick Clark ("America's Oldest Teenager") or maybe Chuck Berry: ("The Father of Rock and Roll) or perhaps Dr. Robert Edwards ("The Father of IVF") for the "National Infertility Awareness Rockin' Eve" show.
As it nears midnight on the eve of National Infertility Awareness Week, naturally there's a countdown. Well, sort of.
Instead of using a clock, somebody thought it would be appropriate to use a giant Basal thermometer. So instead of a countdown, there's actually a count-up: 96!, 96.1!, 96.2!, 96.3!, 96.4, 96.5...
The whole count-up takes about an hour... Somewhere around 98. something, the giant egg drops.
Even though they're staring at the humongous thermometer the entire time, about half of the viewing audience misses the egg drop, gets pissed, and vows that they'll see it next year.
Listen, I gotta go. I'm one of the Supervisors of the clean-up crew. That entails sitting in a comfy chair with a drink with an umbrella in it and telling people "You missed a spot."
I'll talk with ya again tomorrow.