Reason number 49758234

why I love my husband. We're sitting at the baseball game on Saturday, and we're talking about what my ovaries are likely "thinking" at the moment.

----- begin tangent -----
Of course, the Marlins are I think the *only* major league team with cheerleaders (and for those of you who have never seen the Marlin's Mermaids (also affectionately known as Spermaids) in action, let's just say that there is no coordination going on there, and that the outfits look like prostitutes who were rejected by the Dolphin Cheerleader ranks. It's bad. No. I'm serious. It's really bad).
---- end tangent -----

A: they're probably saying, yeah... c'mon spermies!
M: No - they're singing... (whereupon my shy and quiet husband breaks into *quite loud* song: We want sp-er-m! We want sp-er-m! (sung to the tune of "we want candy").
A: OH MY GOD. Bwahahahahahahaha

(everyone else in our section eyes us suspiciously).