Five minutes can be a very, very long time

So, I don't know if you've ever used those ovulation predictor sticks.

Some of you have; you're the ones who told me about them. But for those of you still having sex for fun, let me tell you.

First of all, we bought this package of 20. They come in this big resealable purple bag. You pee on the end of the stick for five seconds, then you wait five minutes. When your luteinizing hormone (a term I just learned) goes up, a second line appears.

This means you are getting ready to ovulate. Which of course is when the magic can happen.

The instructions say to pull a stick out, and then reseal the bag as quickly as possible. And approximately 2:00 pm is the time they recommend testing.

Practically speaking, this is what these instructions have begun to mean in my life.

They mean carrying the whole bag of 20 sticks to the bathroom daily. Actually, it diminishes by one stick every day. So 20 the first day, 19 the next, etc. The only cosmetic case I have that's big enough for the damn bag-o-sticks is leopard-print vinyl. It's not exactly subtle.

The awkwardness, though, is in the bathroom. Because who cares if people think I have a shitload of makeup to reapply in the afternoon?

I pick the last stall, if available. I put the paper down on the seat, unzip the makeup case - ZZZZZZP, open the plastic bag - CRINKLE, pull out one stick, and reseal the bag as quickly as possible. CRINKLE again.

And I know I don't have the best time with this kind of thing, but the peeing on the stick is not as easy as it seems. My pee isn't always pointing the same way. It shifts. Sometimes it's hard to get that stick in the right place.

Or maybe I am just urinarily challenged.

Anyway, so you pee for five seconds: one-one thousand, two-one thousand. . .And then - and this is the hard part - then you have to just sit there.

On the toilet. For five minutes.

Doing nothing but holding your leopard-print bag and looking at your stick.

Because - and believe me, I have contemplated it - you cannot carry a plastic stick on which you have urinated back to your cube. You simply can't.

I thought about wrapping it in toilet paper putting it in my bag, but you're suppose to keep it flat, so you'd have to carry it between your fingers, out in the open. With the possibility of drips.

No. Just, no.

So the waiting.

One afternoon, all four stalls filled up, and I heard the voices of a couple people I'm friends with. "Wow! When is there ever a line in here?"

There isn't.

And I was thinking, oh, they're going to recognize my shoes!

I wanted to be all "I'm not pooing! I'm just waiting for a pink line!"

Do you know how long five minutes can last?