Vicky

The clock

First, at long last, a quickie on my trip with Bast to the peeler bar last weekend. It was her first time ever. I think she was a little disappointed by the action, overall. Most of the girls, while relatively pretty, just sort of swayed back and forth, walked around, took off some clothes. Pretty boring stuff. Made me think that these women are doing the slow-and-sensual thing because they think that’s what men want.

Bullshit. That’s what women want. With their lovers. In real life, I think men and women both prefer a little bit more raunch.

There were a couple of dancers who were excellent – energetic, athletic, and really got into their show, working the audience. Bravo to them, say I. The men really loved them too. Makes me wonder why more of the dancers don’t adopt that style. Too much work, I suppose.

Truthfully, I think if Bast and I got shaped up and toned up, we could make routines that would blow these girls off the stage. We’re already a) highly sexual women and b) kick-ass dancers, far better than these dreamy, doped-out mannequins. I doubt she’d ever do it, but if I get the shape I’m aiming for, I’d try it. Once. See what it was like. Why not?

On to the time clock thing. I’ve been reading Woman: An Intimate Geography by Natalie Angier. Came across a startling fact during my lunchtime reading. Little teeny baby girls, just 20 weeks old in the womb, have 6 to 7 million eggs in their ovaries. They lose about 4 million of these during maturation, and have only a few million by the time they’re born. More are lost during childhood, and only about 450 eggs (at most) are earmarked for ovulation.

Only 450. Yes, I know, do the math and that sounds about right. But that number seemed so small. It means every woman on the planet has only – at most – 450 chances in her entire life to get pregnant. And by the time that woman reaches my age – nearly 30 – she probably only has about 250 or so.

I’ve never been in a big hurry to have babies, but this number really bothered me. I sat in the restaurant at lunch and my biological clock started with a tick, tick, tick. Made me want to run out and get pregnant, today, hurry, there’s almost no time left! Not that I could anyway – that’s kind of the point of the Depo Provera shots I’ve been taking – but still. Eventually this little flurry left me, and I’m pretty much back to my “not in a big hurry – if at all” mood. But it was startling. I never expected that kind of reaction out of myself.

Motherhood? Who, me?

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