Spitz, Don’t Swallow

For the past couple of days, I have felt the beginning of an uncertain malady in my throat.  My throat is not exactly sore, per se, just consistently dry, despite its rather lugubrious production of mucous.  Beyond that, I cannot seem to get my arse out of bed in the morning for anything (or, well, certainly not for my hungry cat or all-too-easy to quiet cell phone alarm clock).  I would chalk it up to mere allergies (though I rarely have them) coupled with the fact that (1) I’m having a bad reaction to the daylight savings time switch (I’ll vote for whichever President campaigns to eliminate that woefully idiotic institution) and (2) I’m having significant difficult sleeping (I am evidently doing the four-step grief process in reverse — I already hit up “depression,” which was wonderful for getting some shut-eye; now that I’m on “anger,” not so much), except for the fact that I have been exposed to (a) pneumonia; (b) stomach flu; (c) respiratory flu; and (d) the common cold within the past week or so.  My friends are worse than zombies, who might only shuffle slowly toward me in hopes of getting some corpus callosum niblets (to which I say, if you can bit through my hard noggin’, feel free to eat my fleshly bits); my friends appear to be happy hosts to a legion of easily-transportable and fast-moving bacteria and viruses.  I officially proclaim March, “Pick Your Friends on the Basis of Their Immune Systems” Month (which is certainly no sillier than some of March’s other celebratory offerings — March is both Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month and Play the Recorder Month, and host to such celebratory days as If Pets Had Thumbs Day on March 3 and the Birthday of Girl Scouting on March 15).  Indeed, the Ides of March are on March 16, which may be when my friends’ collective maladies might run amok and assassinate me.  Hmm…I wonder when National Paranoia Month is?

In other news, India is pioneering the art of making babies for bucks (aka surrogate motherhood).  Evidently, for approximately $25,000 to $30,000, gay couples (or presumably, non-gay couples, but since this was in the New York Times, a gay couple was the main focus) can contribute a bit ‘o sperm and have one Indian woman donate an egg, while another Indian woman literally acts as a baby-making machine.  I must admit that I was a bit shocked (a) that this was completely legal and (b) that it wasn’t much more expensive than adoption these days (which I’m told can run $15,000 easily).  Of the $25,000 to $30,000, the surrogate mother makes about $7,500, which is 9 or 10 times the average YEARLY income for some women in India.  I guess I find this wrong for the same reason that I find “giving” plasma and other organs in exchange for money is wrong — there are just some things in life that should be free (ahem, such as sexual intercourse, Governor Spitzer!).  On the other hand, this would solve my dilemma — how to have children without necessarily incubating the alien myself for nine, nutrition- and body shape-sucking months nor tussling with government administrators over my right to adopt children given my “lifestyle.”  There is definitely a market for this service; the only question is whether there should be.

On a last note, I would just like to say that I am waiting for the day when at least one political wife will refuse to stand by her man when he makes public speeches regarding his adultery, whether with prostitutes (Governor Spitzer), gay men (Governor McGreevey), or presidential interns (President Clinton).  I long for the day when one of these political women will turn around and bitch-slap the jackass, or better yet, serve him with divorce papers at the press conference.  At least the process server will know where he will be.