Today is the turn of the hippy cure.
I've mentioned my in-laws and their crystal-waving ways before. I love them dearly, but they are on a whole different plain spiritually to me. They are the only people close to us who don't know about our quest for kids. We've wanted to tell them, we've even tried to tell them. I've blogged about it, several times. But I can't think of the words, and the husband is petrified of us being overwhelmed with new age cures.
However, it isn't just a barren womb that would prompt an inundatement of magic. The husband complained to them that he was still suffering after-effects of the dysentery. So they sent down some magic stickers.
I promise you I am not making this up.
Apparently the symbol on these stickers holds some arcane secret. You put one on the inside of your wrist (exhibit a)
And (I quote) "The sticker will stay on as long as it needs."
So with nothing better to do I popped one on last Thursday. It is winter so I thought with long sleeves it would remain undetected. I now realise that I have a little 'tell' in meetings, when making a point I have a habit of pushing my sleeves up my arms, and in the past few days that body tick has been swiftly followed by me hurriedly pulling the sleeves right back down again.
The sticker fell off today (leaving an itchy red mark), so according to the rules that was as long as I needed.
Mojo still hovering at a lethargic, disgruntled two out of ten. That'll be a fail for the magic stickers.
Going to try something new tomorrow.