This morning’s pee-stick, negative.
Spot the Hell-Hound, bouncer on the door of the Last Chance Saloon, turned up for lunch.
Clomid it is, then.
I am surprised at myself for being so angry about this. What on earth else did I expect? And if I’m going to get in a stew for a random natural cycle that no one expected until it turned up, what in God’s name am I going to be like after three or four weeks of pills and dildo-cams and sex endurance trials?
I also feel guilty. Poor Queen Satsuma has clearly been doing her damndest this year – look! She has even lengthened my luteal phase this time! – and I am still going to beat her into quivering submission with evil mind-altering little white pills of anxst.