Carol’s Column

Uteri for hire

FOR RENTAL. Twelve uteri. Which should net the lessors approximately R13-million. This is not money to be sneezed at.

And, this is what we'd raise between 12 of us at our bookclub.

The topic came up at the weekly meeting last Wednesday night as Agatha Crump was pouring the caffeine-free coffee into her Rosenthal new design china cups with the fluted edges.

"Would you rent out your uterus?" asked Bertha Hogg.

"Happily," I replied immediately, "at a price."

"But that's immoral," said Bertha in a shocked voice.

"What, to do it, or to charge for it?"

"Both," replied Bertha in a voice of doom.

"Well, I agree," said my good friend Betty. "Organs shouldn't be wasted. I like to see a good organ in action.

"Look at Pat Anthony. She's done something she enjoyed doing, she earned a million rand for it and she's made her daughter happy. Isn't that worth while?"

Everyone nodded.

"Between us we have 12 uteri," I said sipping Agatha Crump's jasmine tea and eating her rum truffle biscuits. "If properly marketed, we could make a fortune. We could form a company, Uteri Unlimited (Pty) Ltd. Why, I bet after three years, when we had a proven track record, we could ask for a listing on the stock exchange."

The girls were definitely interested.

"Listen," I said, "in three years of uterus rental, assuming we each had three babies per womb, we would produce 108 offspring. If we charged a million per batch of three, we're talking about R36-million."

"Goodness gracious," said Greta Ginkel, "this is big bucks."

"And," I continued, "we can even choose where we want our shares listed. If we're looking for publicity, Uteri Unlimited (Pty) Ltd could go under Printing and Publishing or Paper and Packaging. On the other hand, perhaps it should go under Engineering?" I mused.

"Or perhaps Fishing?" murmured Agatha.

"But," said Betty, always an astute financial brain, "don't you think we should form a closed corporation instead of a proprietary limited? Then we don't have to worry about auditors."

For an hour we debated the pros and cons. Eventually we agreed in principle that we'd form Uteri Unlimited (Pty) Ltd. We'd worry about marketing our product later. Even Bertha Hogg, who'd protested so much about the morality of renting out an organ, had come around to the positive aspects of the formation of such a company.

Being a truly democratic bookclub in South Africa, the sensitive issue of race cropped up.

"Would you?" said Bertha Hogg.

"Would I what?" I replied.

"Would you let your uterus breed a you-know-what?"

"No, I don't know what," I said testily.

"Well, will Uteri Unlimited (Pty) Ltd be an equal opportunity company?" asked Bertha.

"Uteri Unlimited (Pty) Ltd will accept everyone on merit," I said with some asperity. "The end products will be of every colour and hue. There's no room for racism here. We're talking about private enterprise and a free market economy."

The entire bookclub was unanimous in support.

Next morning I informed my family that I was going into business and within a short while intended being in the megabuck class.

"Have some more cornflakes," said my husband.

I explained the concept of Uteri Unlimited (Pty) Ltd and the fact that I would be renting out my uterus for R1-million a year.

For the first time in 21 years, my family was silenced. And then, like Zoo Lake in flood, they spewed forth rhetoric.

The bottom line was that they felt my uterus was part of the family, and as such, any decision on who was to occupy it should be a family decision. In other words, they wanted a cut of the profits.

I said I'd discuss it with the bookclub.

Meanwhile, only this morning I heard Nicky and Jamie discussing the merits of organ rental. "We have organs no one has heard of," said Nicky to her brother while brushing her teeth in order that they might shine. "Between us we could make a fortune. Millions."

"Yes," said Jamie, "we can let Uteri Unlimited (Pty) Ltd get established in the market place, and then we can come on strong and undercut them."

"You wouldn't do that," I was shocked.

"Ma, it's called free enterprise," said Nicky, gargling.

Ah well. You win some and you lose some.

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