Freeze right there.
Desperation is the main reason the world is so fucked up right now. When you’re desperate, you settle for things that normally wouldn’t seem right at all. The guy in the corner who looks like he hasn’t had a date (much less a shower) in years starts looking pretty hot when desperation peeks its ugly head in. Well, it decided to take up residence in my soul. I was in trouble.
I can remember the exact moment the logical part of my brain took a holiday. It allowed the birth of something so illogical, so unorthodox, and quite frankly, too insane to ever be considered a useable idea. I remember when it was created. It just took on a life of its own, growing with so many lies and such deceit to make the most famous conman envious of my grand schemes.
This was that moment.
Okay, you can unfreeze now.
“I swear I hear this tickin’ goin’ off in my head. There’s no clock around an’ it’s drivin’ me insane.”
She gasped. “Oh shit, girrrl. Ya know what that is?”
“No. I have no clue, but it’s deafenin’ when it’s silent.”
“It’s your biological clock.”
I laughed, but I wondered if she was onto something. “Oh c’mon. That’s not real… is it?”
“Asks the woman hearin’ a phantom clock. Yes, it’s real!”
“Nu-uh! That’s just a myth.”
“Think about it. Women only have a small window of opportunity each month to get pregnant. There’s supposedly like a twenty–four-hour period out of fifty–seven–thousand–six–hundred–twenty–four hours, give or take a few minutes, in a month. Figure the odds of hittin’ that window at the right time. It’s like NASA an’ their reentry space windows. If ya don’t hit it at the right place, you’re gonna burn up.”
How the hell did she come up with that enormous figure off the top of her head? We’re talking about a woman who can’t budget her checkbook, putting what the bank said instead. Regardless, she made sense. That was when it started to scare me a little. It was just that little bit of fear that started the wheels rolling.
“Some people do because the world’s so overpopulated.”
“Maybe so, but the fact remains; each woman has a certain number of eggs that she can produce in her lifetime. It starts when she’s anywhere from eight to twelve years old, pendin’ the start of puberty. The older a woman gets, the more complicated it becomes to give birth to a healthy baby, much less form a viable egg. That tickin’ is real. It’s loudly tickin’ off the seconds that remain… down to the bitter end.”
“Tickin’ hell, it sounds like a time bomb. I swear I hear someone shoutin’, ‘Blue wire or red wire’ in the background.”
She chuckled. “Don’t ignore it! It’s like a warnin’ to get on the ball if ya ever wanna have a baby before it’s too late. Because when that tickin’ stops, your chances are dead… just like your lifeless womb.”
I gasped. “What the fuck?! You need a fucking thought filter.” Rolling my eyes, I continued ranting about the invisible clock wildly ticking away in my head. “It’s more like an alarm. Ya know, the kind that screeches before the tornado, resemblin’ the hand of God, wipes out another town. It’s drivin’ me insane!”
“It’s human nature. Reproduction is somethin’ every creature on the planet thinks about. We’re all put here for that purpose. Some creatures go their whole lives just to get back to where they were born to spawn an’ die. Some only live for twenty–four hours an’ their sole purpose is to breed.”
“I wonder if they hear this damn tickin’ too.”
She chuckled. “It would explain their behavior.”
How did she know all this?
“When did you become such a reproduction expert?”
“I watched Animal Planet last night. They had a special on animals and breeding.”
It was right at this moment, I think, where desperation walked around the corner and slapped the hell out of me. I suddenly became intrigued about her almost guarantee solution. “Okay, what’s your plan? Even though I know I’m gonna be sorry I asked.”