If it makes you happy to gossip about Sheryl Crow’s ovaries, then why the hell are you so sad? Could it be because all those rumors you’ve been spreading have now been ceremoniously denied by her? Yes, I thought that might be it. And no, I wouldn’t want to be you at tomorrow’s meeting of the Westminster Garden Club.

From People:

The singer-songwriter aimed to set the record straight over the weekend, as she helped open the new Ritz-Carlton, Grand Cayman. Crow, 43, told reporters about the fertility rumor: “I can laugh about it, but in the privacy of my own home it grieves me, because those are such serious and personal topics that somebody would feel that they have a right to even write about it is grotesque. So what can you say? … If I were going to a fertility clinic, I’m sure that I wouldn’t be talking with you guys about it.”

Ok, so maybe she didn’t exactly deny the rumors so much as just skirt around the whole issue. But if you ask me, I personally think she gave up going to fertility clinics years ago. Why? Because time travel hasn’t even been invented yet.

Think about it. At 43, the odds of Sheryl getting pregnant by any means is less than half that if she was 20. Now couple that with years of drinking, drug abuse, and waiting tables, and she’s down to about 1/10 of a percent. Not very encouraging for someone whose next stop is 44.

So the way I see it, her only option left would have to be time travel. But how you ask? By simply equipping a well-informed fertility specialist with a test tube of Lance Armstrong’s sperm and kicking him back to 1986 to impregnate a much younger Sheryl Crow after picking her up in a bar; something that obviously hasn’t happened yet since I am currently writing about it. [I beg you not to think too much about this. The paradoxes of time travel will only make you piss yourself.]

Of course, complications could arise if Sheryl ever confesses that Lance is actually the father of the child, especially since he was only 14 years old in 1986. But I’m sure a statutory rape charge is a small price to pay for the wonders of motherhood.