rainy days and cum-days

In the world of infertility, any sort of Progress seems to be exciting.

Today T. gave his second sample. Momentous. Indeed, this is none other than the long-awaited second test - the one that is supposed to allow me to "wake up and find out it is all a terrible dream." That he simply missed the cup the first time around. Or even better - that someone forgot to punch in a couple of zeros on that first report.

(I'm not embarrassed to admit I have fantasized about the legal battle.)

So today. International Cum- day. Great Day of Cum.

We amused ourselves briefly in the tense lead-up: How many songs include lyrics that can be converted from "Monday" to "Cum-day"?

Cum-day I have Friday on my mind
Rainy days and Cum-days always get me down
Cum-day, Cum-day
Tell me why, I don't like Cum-days

Unfortunately this one ran out of steam pretty quickly and resisted all attempts to be resurrected after the appointment, when T. emerged from the infamous Little Room, wearing an odd, insular expression somewhere between distaste, fascination, and amusement.

He grabbed me tightly. I added "trauma" to the list.

Meg. The guy in the porno looked like Fabio, he said.

Good Lord.

My poor, poor husband.