“I’ll do anything for a baby.”

Those are not my words, as there are still a few things left on my list of what I wouldn't do for a baby. They're Khloe Kard.ashian's. 

I mentioned that my parents arrived with several suitcases full of American goodies, specially for me. One such goodie was a huge stack of all the magazines I subscribe to and have sent to my parents' house for stockage and eventual personal delivery or pick-up, depending on who's going where.

A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned my glee over the forthcoming arrival of these magazines to somebody who then naively inquired if they were related to my [ex-]profession. Ummm ... no. Not at all. They're devoted to how to put on makeup (I don't), how to dress (what's wrong with my not-just-for-bedtime PJs?), and how to trap a good man (already got one, despite it all), as well as to such newsworthy topics as Khloe's reproductive desires. 

(Also among the goodies: some boxes of macaroni and fluorescent-orange-powdered cheese. "I didn't know you liked macaroni and cheese?" my mom wondered aloud, tentatively, when I responded to her request about what I'd like her to send. I don't, not really, but there's nothing like the absolute non-availability of something on supermarket shelves to really create a craving. Also, it's a good comfort food, and there are certainly days when I could use some good hot toxic-looking fake-cheesy comfort.)

I’m steadily working my way through the gossip mags, leaving the heavier reading, like Glamour, until later. I’m up to December 19th. That Khloe and her husband have begun fertility treatments is thus old news for most of the world, or that part of it who cares, but it’s still news to me. (Yes, one could find such information instantaneously on the Internet, but then no, one couldn't read it while pedaling lazily along on a stationary bike, and one would thus be unable to justify one's choice of how best to spend time that is as precious as it is sometimes, seemingly, interminable.)

Despite my general repulsion by all things Kard.ashian, I have to sympathize with Khloe, described rather unsympathetically as “desperate for a child.” That’s not an easy place to be in. I do roll my eyes, however, when I read things like this:

“[My mom] teaches me things I don’t want to know. She’s like, ‘X amount of days after your period, that means you ovulate,’ and I say, ‘Oh, God, please go away!’” 

I can understand being desperate to have a baby. But wouldn't it help to first learn some basic facts of human reproductive biology?

(PS: You know how subscription magazines often come wrapped in plastic bags? Well, in the course of discharging their honorable duty to protect our homeland security, TSA took all my magazines out of their wrappers. If only they'd removed the perfume ads, too.)