I had a vasectomy in December. GoodTimesDotCom. What’s not to like about holding frozen foods to your gonads while watching hours of TV in an opiate-induced stupor? Which, incidentally, might explain the misty eyes at the end of Home Alone. The opiate-induced stupor, that is.
Not that I have anything to apologize for. It’s a touching cinematic moment by anyone’s standards–a tender reunion between an abandoned, vulnerable little boy and the mother who never meant to leave him.
Anywho, by now I’ve completely recovered from the seminal procedure. (Did you know that seminal means of, relating to, containing, or conveying semen or seed?) But there’s still an “i” that needs to be dotted. Yours truly has to provide the cock doc with two “samples” which he will test to make sure that I am, indeed, shooting blanks.
And that’s the part, you see, that no one discusses. Oh, sure, everyone tells you about the procedure itself, as well as the pain pills, frozen peas and jock straps. But no one tells you about the samples. Probably because it’s not that big of a deal.
Yet I’m struggling with it. Call me self-conscious, but I’m unsure of the best way to go about this. Well, the first part, I can, um, handle. You just beat the damn thing like it owes you money. But once the samples are where they’re supposed to be, there’s still the matter of dropping them off.
And that’s the moment I struggle with. Because whoever takes the containers will know exactly what I did to fill said containers. (See-through plastic, not helping.) And that’s mortifying to me. I mean, seriously, I may as well just wear a sign that says “I recently jacked off.”
Or have Warren from There’s Something About Mary scream “HE WAS MASTURBATING” just as he did in the famous “frank and beans” scene. (Do yourself a favor and watch it again, and pay close attention at the 4:50 mark.)
So, how do I handle this transaction in order to minimize embarrassment? Acting normal and carrying them in my hand seems a bit awkward. So maybe I go all professional and transport the samples in an Igloo cooler. But that somehow feels too cryogenic for my taste.
I could be nonchalant and carry the samples in my pocket, but then I run the risk of coming off like a freak who wants to keep the samples at body temperature.
Maybe I’m focusing too much on the transporting. After all, the true source of embarrassment isn’t the carry. It’s the drop off. Maybe I should strike up small talk. “Say, is aim ever an issue for any of your clients?” Or “Does anyone ever fill these bad boys up? Because I came damn close on that first one.”
Maybe humor is the way to go. “My wife is always getting on me because I never do laundry. At least now I can tell her that I’ve handled a coupla loads.”
Or, maybe I just own it. You know, beat Warren to the punch. “Hi there. I’ve recently masturbated into these two plastic containers as you’ll note from the semen therein. What would you like for me to do with these ejaculatory samples?”
I know! I’ll have my wife drop the samples off for me. And I’ll do something for her. Like laundry, maybe. As long as she doesn’t need me to starch anything.