Today, within a long swath of the country from Texas to Maine, within the path of totality, a total eclipse of the sun will be visible for a period of from two and a half to four minutes. Millions of people will experience this rare, transformative phenomenon. I live in Huntington Beach, California, and was fortunate enough to find lodging in Nashville, within the fabled path, to experience the last total eclipse in the states back in August, 2017. To see a total eclipse was at the apex of my bucket list, and I was not disappointed. It was an overcast afternoon in Nashville. I was with a group on a large greenbelt at the magnificent Gaylord Opryland Hotel. With baited breath we observed the eclipse progression through a veil of clouds. It was approaching the total phase when, with about a minute to go, the sun was enveloped by an ominous cluster of clouds. Then, it happened. A miracle perhaps? Mere seconds before total eclipse, the clouds disappeared as if pulled asunder by the hands of god. People began to cheer, chant and dance. I was transfixed as the hot August day cooled and darkness descended. It was transcendent and joyous, for me and countless others. But, sadly, not for everyone.

Am I referring to those foolhardy souls who stared at the sun like blissful idiots without protective glasses? No. I am referring to thousands of hapless young couples, both in 2017 and today. If any of you have read some of my prior posts, you must know where I’m going. You have to know what’s coming.

Yes, I am a cynical, sarcastic, pessimistic old sourpuss. When wonderful things happen, I know there is a dull, tarnished flip side to the bright shiny coin. People hate to see the bubble burst- the parade rained upon. And thus, certain realities are suppressed and kept under lock and key in the dark recesses of our psyches. But I’m not people. I hate parades, especially the famous obnoxious one we have here in Huntington Beach every July 4th. I love a good drenching on a parade, with plenty of sleet and hail stones clogging and muffling those god awful tubas. So let me lay some eclipse reality on you, oh gentle readers.

Today and as it was seven years ago, thousands of young men were badgered by their wives and girlfriends to enter the path of totality, be it Texas or Maine, and to copulate with the expressed intent of conceiving a child during that two and a half to four minute window of total eclipse. Why? So their offspring will be forever special, in some preposterous Granola and crystal way, and mom will have some inexplicable bragging rights among her peers ( “Oh, look at my little Jeremy. He’s an eclipse baby, you know.”)

Try to imagine, oh ye men, the consummate pressure. Erection, insertion and ejaculation within those brief, precarious minutes, exacerbated by growing darkness and a gawking crowd of thousands. Some will succeed; but alas, some won’t. I can hear the cacophony of angry feminine voices across the land. “It didn’t happen, did it Marvin? (or Bill, or Jason etc. ad nauseam). “Oh, this is so typical of you!”

Ah, the ephemeral window of opportunity within the path of totality. A window that will be slammed shut for another twenty years.

My condolences to Marvin, Bill, Jason et al. . You did your best, but it just didn’t happen.

And you’ll be reminded of it for the rest of your days.