By Wendy Harmer
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Extra info for Farewell My Ovaries, First edition
They were marching in columns through the supermarket, the fruit shop and the newsagent. And the doctor could point at her rainbow chart of coloured women, but the army had chosen its own uniform of blue, brown and beige, accessorised with comfy shoes and an armful of white plastic bags. Were they a liberation army? Now free of the daily routines and indulging in passions for the literature they had never had time to read and the gourmet cooking they had always wanted to master but which children would never eat?
Women are here to organise men. ’ And here Meg laughed so much she slid off the kitchen bench into a heap on the floor. Claire looked at Meg rolling on the slate tiles with her legs and arms in the air and was reminded of a Christmas beetle which had landed upside down and couldn’t get up again. She doubled up laughing herself. ’ came a voice from the doorway. The three women turned to see a tall, broad figure silhouetted in the light from the deck. Connor. They all jumped to as if they’d been caught smoking behind the sheltersheds by the headmaster.
Meg put her Florentine down, leaned forward and gave Claire her best Mother Confessor impersonation. QX5 17/1/05 1:43 PM Page 25 Bookhouse Farewell my Ovaries ‘Meg, I am forty-five years old. You’ve known me for almost half of those years. And you know I love my husband dearly and that I would never do anything to upset our marriage. I would never do anything which would rob Madeline of her mummy and daddy, but . ’ ‘But. We love the “but”,’ giggled Meg. ‘I’m being serious. I don’t know why it happened.