Some experts yesterday issued a warning to women over 35 who are ditching contraception in the mistaken belief that they are unlikely to get pregnant.
A spokeswoman for the Family Planning Association said:
A lot of women in the 35-plus age-range glance across to the flatulent fat slob snoring away in front of the TV across the other side of the room and decide that it is so long since he managed to get it up, that continuing with contraception is far more trouble than it is worth.
We would, however, like to remind women in this age group that this summer will see England playing in the 2010 World Cup in South Africa, and if – unlikely, we know – England do manage to squeeze their way out beyond the group stages, then there is a possibility that their partner may feel the urge to celebrate in the usual way.
The same also – to a certain extent – applies to the rugby Six Nations. However, should the England team do well in this, it is more likely that the traditional rugby celebration – of drinking enough beer to totally submerge a small market town and then mooning everyone in a six-mile radius before collapsing in a vomit-stained heap – will take place instead.
Other experts in the field have also pointed out that women in this age-group should also be aware that there is the chance that just occasionally their husband or partner may suddenly experience a total loss of internet connection. They do stress that this is nothing to be overly concerned about as internet connections can usually be re-established quite easily. A sudden loss of internet connection may however, these experts claim, lead to the man being suddenly deprived of his access to hard-core pornography, which – in some cases – may lead to him re-acquiring some interest in doing it with a real, live woman, quite possibly for the first time in several months, or – perhaps – even years.
However, one woman in her late… er… early forti… late thirties(ish) said:
I have given up totally on that useless lump. I mean, even in his prime it was usually a case of falling out of the pub at chucking-out time, a vindaloo and then three minutes of fumbling under the duvet before farting, rolling over and falling asleep, but at least in those days he did make an effort, even if I did have to buy my own birthday, anniversary and Valentines presents and pretend they were from him.
Lately, though, I’ve been carrying on with the contraception, and hanging on in hope, just in case those adverts do come true, and there is some hot bloke out there – with a dirty smile and the body of a sex god – desperate to give me one as soon as he’s finished his can of Coke, but now I’m beginning to doubt it.
In fact, I’ve come to the conclusion that I might just as well flush my pills away and get a cat instead.