Vacation! Alone! Must remember birth control...

You think I jest.

I am the woman who ovulates immediately upon arriving in another city. The plane lands, the car slides to a stop, we unload our bags, and my ovaries leap into action:

"Hey, you — on the right! It's your turn to release the egg! Hurry, they're putting up the tent!"

We made Tootie on a weekend jaunt to New Orleans in 2002. After a night of beers and crawdads, Hubs and I awoke in the guest bedroom of our kind hosts, Dick and Rita.

Yes, Dick and Rita. Are those not the perfect party names? How could you be named Dick and Rita and not want to ply your guests with alcohol and cheese dip all weekend? And really, could Dick and Rita live anywhere other than New Orleans? I think not.

Anyway, the guest bathroom was located between our room and that of our other friends, Jo and Staton. At the time of The Conception, Jo was in the bathroom getting dressed.

Now Hubs and I did briefly debate whether morning s-e-x rightthisveryminute was such a good idea. I mean, what if Jo could hear? But then we heard the roar of the hair dryer, and given that Jo has this incredible, lovely, thick hair, we figured we had time.

And presto! The Toot was on her way, likely soaking up the rum runners I enjoyed that night. (Yes, this caused me great worry later. Helpful hint: Getting pregnant in New Orleans will ensure months of wondering whether you damaged your newly fertilized egg with all that carousing.)

Fast-forward to 2004, when I went to New York City to accept a journalism award. The newspaper was kind enough to send Hubs with me, and we spent four blissful days wandering Manhattan. The awards luncheon was on a Tuesday. Our plane was departing Wednesday. And, after two months of taking my temperature and tracking my cycle, I calculated that I would be ovulating right as the plane soared over the city.

"We have to do it right now," I informed Hubs when he collapsed on the bed, exhausted from his awards luncheon duties. (Those included: Giving his wife pep talks in the hours before she had to stand in front of an intimidating crowd of well-known journalists to give a speech; keeping her wine glass full during said event; and reassuring her afterward that no, she did not sound like a stupid, babbling hick.)

"But I'm so tired," Hubs moaned.

Eventually, he gave in — not because I looked especially seductive in my polka-dotted suit (oh my god, what was i thinking?) — but because he can't stand to pass up that kind of offer, not when it's so rarely made. We had a toddler at the time, remember? The marital bed had become a place strictly for sleeping.

And thus, the E-man was created.

This weekend, we leave for Big Bend National Park. Sans children. Lots of Mexican beer, maybe a little dancing...

Which is why we're stopping at the drugstore on our way out of town.