This is the level I expect in exchange for asking “the” question.

Asking About My Reproductive Status Requires a Good Cheese Tray.

I’ve been pretty pissed at my uterus this year. Girl is out of control. I am almost positive she’s trying to kill me. Hey, maybe we’ll end up on Dateline! Keith Morrison will narrate it — “It was a stormy night in the Pacific Northwest. While some allowed the rain to soothe them into a deep sleep, one woman was engaged in a battle for her life, and you’ll never guess who the killer was…” Yup. That about sums up my year. So you’ll understand why even casual questions about having kids send me into fight or flight mode.

You know what I’m talking about. You’re at that work party and you’ve covered all the acceptable work related topics. Someone has had just enough booze to think “gosh, we should really get to know each other” and turns things personal. The radius of questions starts fairly wide and mostly benign: whereabouts in the city do you live? what does your partner do? Suddenly the sphere is shrinking and you realize the gateway question is upon you — for me it’s almost always: how long have you been married? The second that one drops I know exactly what’s coming next and my instincts kick in. I have several patented escape techniques that are pretty effective. The least disruptive one is to distract them by throwing questions their way before they can carry on. People generally love to talk about themselves so if you play your…