I have one.  Jealous?

Oosik

It started at my friend B.’s bridal shower.  B. is getting married at the age of 40.5 or so, which is when I got married.  She’s one of the last of a group of girlfriends to marry, and so all of her rude jokes and gifts given over the years to other brides came back around at her shower.

It’s fun to be a part of a bridal shower with women who are committed to "sexual purity," which means no sex until the wedding night.  Those of us who are now married and did it, which means we didn’t Do It, know that it’s possible and for me it was totally worth it.  (Everyone gets to make their own decisions on this, of course, and won’t get lectured here by me).  The bride-to-be is generally unnerved and titillated at the prospect that she is finally, finally, going to Do It – and in many instances over the last few years, the bride-to-be was this culture’s favorite joke: a 40-year-old virgin.  But to me the showers are always very sweet, and while I was only a born-again virgin (having been Without for oh, nine years before my wedding night) I was pretty freaked out too.  It just makes all the rude jokes and sexy lingerie more edgy and fun, knowing the wedding night is really the bride & groom’s first time. 

Of course it sucks for the single girls, who have also been waiting but don’t know if anybody will ever show.  My heart goes out to the girls from yesterday’s event, most over 40, who are still committed but far from enjoying the fruits of that commitment since their husbands are still over the horizon.  It’s hard knowing we made this commitment for love of God, and it seems God is repaying us with a whole lot of nothing.  It bites.  I have been there.  It doesn’t help to know your fertility is going down the drain as each month goes by, although most of my single friends are in denial about the real chances of conception after 40, as I was.  It’s probably better that way.

Naturally I bit my tongue when this bride-to-be was given a pregnancy test kit.  I pushed back at the tide of bitterness, i.e., of course it will happen for her, and I somehow won victory over said bitterness without eating three pieces of cake.  If it happens for her, I will be happy, I will get happy, I will.  If everyone else has to suffer just because I have, what good does that do? 

Anyway, one of the rude gifts my friend B. had given to one of her bride-to-be friends, back in the day, was the oosik, which is the penis bone of a walrus.  Coo-coo-ca-choo, this thing is about two feet long.  Obviously it’s quite the fertility totem, and its recipient said she got married, got pregnant with twins and then "put it in the basement," where it waited many years for its chance to be returned it to B.  Amidst the laughter, I said "Can I borrow it?" which of course curdled the laughing into AIS (Awkward Infertility Silence).  Sheesh.  Whatever.  I gladly pay that price just to be honest with the world once in a while.

Since B. doesn’t get married ’til early July, she did in fact lend it to me, and during the time I get to keep it I do have a FET scheduled.  B. told me "put it under your bed," and I thought, hmm… how will I get this thing into my doctor’s office?  It got me thinking about religion and superstition.  Religious people like me can easily heap scorn on the superstitious, but we have a lot in common.  Specifically: the knowledge that we are not in charge.  Whether it’s God, a walrus penis bone, or the doctor’s skill, all I know is it’s not up to me if this FET works.  I’m leaning towards God, of course; but God works through the doctor’s skill, and as you can see from this big-ass bone, God also has a sense of humor.

So I am hoping and praying that after I deliver the oosik back to B., when she comes home from her honeymoon and takes it out of the box, she’ll find a little note from me tucked in there:

"It worked."

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