We hate to be the bearer of bad news, but let’s face it, at least someone around here is bearing something. Sadly, after 35 years, that someone still isn't you—and it is for this very reason we have decided to write this letter. After extensive discussion with the fallopian tubes and your biological clock, and on behalf of your entire reproductive system, we have decided to retire from ovulating.
Look, we have been with you for over 35 years to date, and we have been beyond patient. Remember going through puberty? Who do you think was responsible for making it happen? You think those breasts you got there grew on their own? Or they just magically appeared from out of nowhere? It’s called estrogen, sweetheart, and estrogen happens to be our gig. Since we’re already strolling down memory lane, let’s go back and visit the college years for a moment. You remember college, don’t you? Those amazing, peak, ripe years you spent studying your life away and putting to waste those perfectly solid eggs we worked so hard to give you. You could have had a litter by now, but no, ... you had to go to graduate school, that was more important than having babies. Clearly, graduate school taught you nothing about priorities.
Do you have any idea how much people would pay for the very thing you took for granted all of these years? In today's world, with infertility at a maximum, eggs are a huge commodity. Quite frankly, we don’t know how they’re not being publicly traded yet; the stock would skyrocket instantly. People pay thousands of dollars for our kind of services; unlike yourself, these people understand the value of a decent egg.
Your other ovary and I promised each other we weren’t going to bring this up, but after careful consideration we decided it'd be best to clear out any and all skeletons still in the closet before we vacate. Did you think we were that stupid? You may think you're slick calling it Plan B, but we know the B stands for bump off or butcher. We knew what was going on all along, we just chose to turn the other way and keep quiet. It was too painful to address at the time, but we have never forgotten about what you’ve done. We’re out here slaving away in this 98.6 degree pelvis of yours and you just toss our blood, sweat, and tears down the drain with one sip of water. We may have forgiven you, but never will we forget what a butcher you are.
We’d like to keep this as short and sweet as possible. This isn't easy for any of us, but it must be done. Let’s face it, we had a great run, but even the greatest of runs must eventually come to an end. We just aren't the same ovaries we were five years ago; it's time for us to throw in the towel. We worked hard enough, and we are beyond ready for retirement. We want to travel and see the world; you know, sunbathe in the Maldives, maybe check out those beautiful white nights in St. Petersburg.
We promise you that your mother did not put us up to this to try to scare you into giving her grandchildren. She had absolutely nothing to do with this. We came up with this decision on our own and quite frankly we wanted to tell you for a while now but didn’t have the heart to do so. You can’t tell us that you didn’t see this coming. I mean, you knew this time would eventually come. And look, we understand you want to have kids someday, so we are putting in another month's work before we leave for the Maldives. This shall serve as our 28-day notice. Please give our sincerest apologies to your mother and tell her we tried our best, but without that one little sperm , our hands are pretty much tied. We’re just ovaries, we’re not Virgin Marys. We did you the service of looking into some freezers for the final month's eggs and really encourage you to freeze them as soon as possible. It’s a bit pricey, but we’re sure your mother will help pay for the storage fees.
On behalf of your entire reproductive system, we would like to thank you for the yearly pap smears and STD precautions. We will be forever grateful. Goodbye now, and take care of yourself. We’ll send you a postcard from the Maldives.
PS: Your endometrial lining wanted us to tell you to go fuck yourself.