Blast From the Past-'V'

 May I present an entry from the 2011 A-Z Challenge?  Of course, I've reposted this at least a couple times since then because I find it pretty funny.  Luckily, the procedure took as I've not had children since.  And I've had "sexy time" on more than a couple occasions.

Not lately, though. 
Brown hair isn't the only thing I've lost since I've gotten older, don'tcha know.

 

Vasectomy-The Unkindest Cut of All

(NOTE:  That can’t possibly be original)

    After the second of our children were born, my wife and I decided that we were done with the whole reproducing thing.  We first considered having her tubes tied.  But, since that conjured up a vision of a rodeo where a chaps-wearing doctor would wrassle my wife to the operating table, we didn’t want to try that.

    I also considered radiation to fry my “boys.”  But, since taping a cell phone to my crotch was impractical and sticking my junk in front of the microwave delayed dinner, we decided on a vasectomy.

Plus, it's too high.

    Since this decision was made while I was still in the Navy, there was no worry about how we were going to be able to pull this off (an unfortunate phrase, that).  The local Navy hospital was more than capable of performing the procedure.

Because no way I would do this on a ship.  A moving ship.

    So, after talking a couple of the guys into joining me (the hospital was having a special: "Bring a friend and get 10% off a car wash"), I decided to close the “Fruitful and Multiply” store.

    The three of us were ushered into what looked like a MASH operating room.  After a couple of questions, like “Have you eaten in the past 12 hours?”, “Are you sure you want to do this?”, “Have you shaved this morning?”,

Although I wondered what that had to do with anything.

we were instructed to disrobe from the waist down and cover ourselves with a white sheet.

    Frankly, I wanted to go all nude, but my friends chickened out.  I think they were jealous.  Or horrified.  Probably horrified.

    Anyway, the three of us laid (or is that ‘lied’? I can NEVER get that straight) down on the table, sheets draped across our laps, our “privates” (wait a minute, we were in the Navy-we didn’t have “privates.”  Okay, “seamen.”  There, that’s better.”) poking through holes.

I swear, we looked like a row of ghosts wearing Jimmy Durante masks. 

NOTE: to keep this a "family-friendly" blog, I left out a picture of why exactly I thought that.  You're welcome.

    Assisted by a dour-looking corpsman, the doctor reassured us that the procedure would be painless.  Especially, he laughed, for him.

    Yeah, I know.  Laugh clown, laugh.

"Homey don't find this funny."

    There would be, he cautioned, a small “stick and a kick.”

    Starting with me, he injected my laddies (the “stick”) to numb them.  This was immediately followed by a substantial “kick.”

Pretty much.

     Visions of playground bullies immediately swam into focus as I struggled to breathe.  Before I had the chance to lie that I was okay, though, the parts surrounding my fun factory lost all feeling.  

    So, it went with the rest of us.  In no time, the genital assembly line (thanks, Henry Ford!) was closing up shop.  Gingerly putting our trousers back on, we cracked jokes about unloaded guns and laughed about whether we should show our scars at the next family reunion.

    Still, we were happy that we were finally taken off the playing field, in a matter of speaking.  Instead of being put out to stud, we knew that the limited editions of “us” were finally at an end. 

    As we got our parking validated and received our car wash vouchers, we took comfort that our lives would be spared from future unplanned, unforeseen “Uh-ohs.”

    Even more, we were thrilled that we would be able to “get the ball rolling” (you know what I mean) in only a couple weeks.

Unless the ballgame was on.