"I have a cold that has given me a smoker's cough," I tell him.
"Sexy," he replies.
"I know. I will surely find a husband any day now," I say, pausing briefly to hack up one of my lungs. "I will pick him up by saying, 'Hey baby, my biological clock has started to tick.' And then I will cough all over him. Guys love that."
Though he seems slightly hesitant, he eventually agrees with me.
"I am ten years away from asking you to father my children. I am just putting that out there. We cannot do it though because it would just be too weird," I declare.
"Yeah, but maybe in ten years it will seem normal," he postulates.
"You could be right, but I am making no promises."
"Me either," he agrees. "I may even say no."
"I don't think you will. Your biological clock is ticking too." He is silent now because he knows this is true. "Plus," I add, "I am so smooth that you will not even realize what has happened until the offspring is 30."