If I'm speeding home at twenty over the speed limit and tearing off Danny's clothes as soon as he walks through the door. Well, that means I'm ready to make some babies.
Twenty nine is peak fertility for a woman. Maybe that's why I've got such a bad case of baby fever.
It was fun at first, dragging him to bed as soon as he got in.
But after six months of trying and two dozen negative tests, well, something seemed wrong.
Yep, turns out poor Danny's shootin blanks. I should be consoling him, god knows he needs me but I'm ovulatin and my body's got one thing on it's mind.
Making babies.
And if Danny can't get the job done. Well, there' are plenty of men who can.
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