Meanwhile (meanwhile meanwhile meanwhile), let us quickly recap matters internal and gynaecological chez May.
I am almost entirely sure I ovulated on Saturday evening. My fertility charting website software is not sure, and won’t mark that day as The Day. This is because I have had (am still having) the Official First Cold of the Academic Year, and Friday-through-Monday I had a nasty sore throat (is there a nice kind?) and a low-grade fever, which of course meant the usual distinctive temperature drop caused by surging estrogen and subsequent marked rise caused by the corpus luteum pumping out progesterone got completely swamped by the noble battlings of my immune system.
Anyway, I’ll bet you dollars to doughnuts I did ovulate, and have marked the relevant Friday at the end of next week with a big red cross, a skull, a dagger, a bottle marked ‘poison’, an axe, and a gigantic angry black scribble.
Given that H has a new (stress! Stress!) job, that we both had colds, and that the in-laws were coming to stay, The Fuckening was, eh, sporadic, this month. Not so sporadic as to allow me to spend the next week-and-a-half drinking espresso by the pint and eating chicken-liver-and-brie crostini for lunch, dinner and tea, mind you. Just sporadic enough for me to stomp about muttering ‘oh, what’s the bloody point?’ a lot.
And the In-Law Visitation? Was fine. Was more than fine. We had a very nice time. Which does not in any way make for good anecdotage (apart from the bit with the injured mouse that tore itself free from the trap and bolted for cover in the spare room, where the In-Laws were sleeping. We still haven’t found it. Oy gevalt).