Or at least, I still think.
I know I really ought not, but the weirdo in me got mildly excited when I read this.
I used to always tell the ex-dude... well, at least during those days when I was unabashedly dying to have his little dudes. That, should anything of fatal misfortune befall him, I would want to - without any life-threatening delay - retrieve and preserve his, er, spermatozoa. Or whatever supply was left in him. Anything. With his blessings of course.
And I wasn't for the life of me joking.
Call me weird, crazy, whatever. I really, really meant it - then. And now, I know - if old farts like the woolly mammoths can do it, I am pretty sure my plan would have worked too.
Now that I'm remembering stuff like this, it has suddenly dawned upon me that maybe... maybe I was just all too mentally intimidating for him to take.
Ah well.
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