(Start with "Monday" if you can. After I slaved over a hot computer for hours and hours, the least you can do is read it. Did images of your mother just come crashing into your head? Sorry about that.) So what were talking about? Oh right. How it's impossible to please everyone... so you got to please yourself. (Is it just me or did James Taylor just infiltrate my blog?)
For the past few days every article I've read has congratulated Dr. Robert Edwards, one of two scientists behind IVF, for winning the Nobel Prize. Of course I read a lot of infertility sites. Some of the general public ones were, shall we say... less complimentary.
So, this one woman Jeanne Sager writes on her blog:
"Robert Edwards winning the Nobel Prize for Medicine...is an official stamp of approval on the man who gave us Octomom."
Okay... Okay...Okay... Nope. I still don't get it. What exactly does this man who came up with a break-through procedure in the 1970's have to do with Nadya Suleman, a possible nutcake who had octuplets in 2009?
Oh wait. It's coming to me now. He developed something that somebody misused thirty years later. And that's his fault. Obviously.
Damn all of those ingenius people in the world!
It's Thomas Edison's fault that people got the electric chair.
It's also his fault that singers use profanity on their records.
It's Henry Ford's fault there are drunk drivers.
It's George Washington Carver's fault kids have peanut allergies.
It's Pampers fault that babies pee themselves.
It's Martha Stewart's fault women poison their husbands' dinners.
It's Elmer's fault that people sniff glue.
It's Benjamin Moore's fault that people sniff paint.
It's Benjamin Franklin's fault that golfers playing in a storm get struck by lightning.
It's Jack Daniel's fault that people are alcoholics.
It's my husband's fault that the VCR was set for the wrong show and I missed my football last week.
It's dumb Karen's fault that Frosty the Snowman melted.
It's my mother's fault that I have such a negative attitude.
It's Lucy's fault that Charlie Brown needs a chiropractor.
It's William Shatner's fault his new sit-com is tanking.
It's Wal-Mart's fault we're all wearing square-shaped clothes.
Wait, what were we talking about?
Listen I gotta go. I have to go do some positive mantras. I still haven't forgiven my husband, Karen, my mother, Lucy or Shatner.
I'll talk with ya again tomorrow.
If you can, take a look at this week's article in "The Health Experts": Shari Stewart and Julia Krahm discuss: "Partnering with our Reproductive Endocrinologists: Why don't we? Why should we?" http://laughingisconceivable.com/?page_id=642