You're shipping what?

Oh, our donor is a very, very special man. He'll be a great uncle but has no interest in being a parent to our (future) child, and has been nothing but accomodating throughout the process, no mean feat now that her whole cycle is kerflooey and we've been as vague as can be about giving him projected timeframes for donations. This morning, for example, the little monitor showed an egg. Excuse me, Mr. Egg, you are not supposed to show up for at least one more day, preferably two.

So, I call our donor--we'll call him Gatsby--at 7:30 in the morning, leave him a message and ask if he can accomplish the task and deliver the goods to FedEx tonight. He e-mails from work saying, "Crank up the baby machine." ("Is he referring to ME," Lisa asks, "or himself?" I think he was referring to himself.)

He goes home from work, makes the donuts and delivers the sealed carton to FedEx. And the FedEx guy says, "Just a couple of questions. What's in it?"

He started out by just saying biological specimens, but when the guy inquired about blood, Gatsby just told him what it was. He's right. They probably ship all manner of weirdness every single day. What do they care if a gay guy in the Midwest is trying to knock up his lesbian friend's partner in Texas?