Time waits for no ovary.

I guess I just have bigger ovaries.

I got the swag and it's pumping out my ovaries

Son, feelings are what women have. They come from their ovaries.

I have no clue. I have ovaries; therefore, I repel all things mechanical.

I can't even be around children. It's a problem. My ovaries start screaming.

The Victorian woman became her ovaries, as today's woman has become her "beauty.

A young woman in her teens has about 300,000 eggs in her ovaries. By the time she is menopausal, none are left.

I’m just not interested.” “Do you have ovaries?” Jacob asked. I shot him a look. “Yes.” … “Then how are you not interested.

Because there's no way on earth she's going to make it through college unless she grows some serious ovaries and turns this train wreck around

I told her I wanted a plastic surgeon to sew me up, and I wanted her to freeze my ovaries, so I could harvest the eggs and have a biological child through a surrogate.

I pointed in the general vicinity of my left ovary, "This is Beam Me Up." Then to my right. "And this is Scotty." Garret chuckled and buried his face in his hands. He asked.

You know, these conservative women, somebody really needs to go repossess their ovaries. Really, truly, they have no right to them. They are fabulous, little organs and they have absolutely no right to be estrogen-bearing beings. Okay? Just cut 'em off, let 'em go through the hot flashes, let 'em just sit there and complain about hormone therapy, okay? Just take the ovaries and get it over with. Because they don't deserve to have estrogen. They really don't. It's a privilege.

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