Chasing the Wind

Source: Ananova

A German couple who went to a fertility clinic after eight years of marriage have found out why they are still childless – they weren’t having sex.

The University Clinic of Lubek said they had never heard of a case like it after examining the couple who went to see them last month for fertility tests.

Doctors subjected them to a series of examinations and found they were both apparently fertile, and should have had no trouble conceiving.

A clinic spokesman said: “When we asked them how often they had had sex, they looked blank, and said: “What do you mean?”.

“We are not talking retarded people here, but a couple who were brought up in a religious environment who were simply unaware, after eight years of marriage, of the physical requirements necessary to procreate.”

The 30-year-old wife and her 36-year-old husband are now being given sex therapy lessons while the university clinic undertakes a study to try to find out if there are more couples with a similar lack of sex education.

This story raises several questions.

• Eight YEARS?
• I thought this was instinct.
• They’re taking LESSONS?
• What kind of qualifications do you need to be a teacher?

On a completely unrelated note, I had a dream last night, another movie quality dream. This one apparently had absolutely no meaning. I’m in my car – my current car, the 2000 Nissan Maxima – and giving a Mexican girl a ride to the college. (No, I don’t know her name or even what she looked like, apparently I don’t turn my head when I’m driving). She’s apologetic she can’t show me her artwork, but she couldn’t get her computer to convert it to greyscale (whatever that is), but she assures me it’s of similar quality to my sister’s (who’s in 11th grade during the dream).

I arrive at art class at the college – I think it’s actually my son’s chosen college – and I’m the only one who can’t hear the art professor. He’s taking up a $10 collection from everybody, and I don’t know why since I can’t hear him. I don’t have any cash, but the professor takes credit cards. I leave the credit card and receipt paperclipped together on the edge of his desk and sit back down.

The professor has drawn some artwork with a question mark on it. I’m hoping this class is *beginning* art that will teach me how to create artwork, not merely make existing artwork better, since right now I have no artisitic abilities. He points at the question mark art, and says something that includes my name. I stand up and ask him to repeat it, which he does. It’s not any better, I still don’t know what he said except his sentence ends with my name.

Fortunately, the alarm clock goes off at this point. Sometimes I hit the snooze and resume my dreams, but not this one. It bothers me I can’t understand the professor.

On another completely unrelated note, my blood pressure was 120/80 this morning. That’s the best it’s been all month.