You resign yourself to more fun with urine, head home with the precious cargo, and realize you have mountains of laundry to fold and have given no thought to what to take for the high-society graduation over the weekend. Wishing you’d picked up some wine with the dry ice, you fold a few pieces of laundry and spend the rest of the evening blogging and reading online.
At 5:15 that damn clock does its thing again and you wonder to yourself why you chose a career that requires waking up at an hour any sane human would be dreaming peacefully (or not so peacefully, depending on their antidepressant prescription). You drag out the Crotch Science Kit yet again, and begin to worry that your cheapskate nature is threatening your entire reproductive endeavor. What if neither the store brand nor the Internet cheapie OPKs are worth a damn? What if you already surged and you missed it? What if you have more than $600 of useless spermatozoa sitting in your cooler (that you will never again be able to use for picnics) waiting to die uselessly?