Well, Ricochet Rabbit is still zooming. He's all "Ping ping ping! Hey, look at me! I'm 23mm!" He's huge. He blots out the sun. He is a bowling ball among marbles, all of which are making my left ovary in particular feel like it might burst.
His slightly sluggish sidekicks, the Droopalong Coyotes, are slogging along at 15 and 17mm.
Damn slowpokes. We're going to give them ONE MORE DAY to catch up. Grrrr. That means we trigger tomorrow morning and go for the VSTB (Very Special Turkey Baster, a clinical term that I made up all by myself, thankyouverymuch) on Friday.
Meanwhile, I've postponed a training that I was supposed to present tomorrow, because I thought we were going to VSTB tomorrow. I've been waiting months to give this training, and I'm feeling all kinds of guilt about letting my client down. Gah! This fertility business requires much improvisation.
The good news is that I'll be all trussed and basted well before my friends' wedding, and several hours (gods willing) before the rehearsal dinner. Because god knows, even a proper clerical collar and a certificate from the Universal Life Church wouldn't make up for the sheer awkwardness of having to preside at a wedding with my feet in stirrups.