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The Perils of Being Male
The Perils of Being Male
Okay, this story may be just a bit embarrassing, but I’m going to tell it anyway.
Also, I have to warn you that parts of the human male anatomy are going to be mentioned here. So, if you don’t know what they may be, I suggest you consult Gray’s Anatomy, (the medical textbook; not the television show). I wouldn’t want this story to be your first sojourn into the mysterious world of the masculine private parts.
With that said:
I love salads. Truly. My daughter-in-law Melanie often tells people that when she has a salad, she wants a "Jim Salad". My salads consist of many types of lettuce, spinach, broccoli, mushrooms, English cucumbers, tomatoes (plum, cherry and others), celery, bell peppers and any other kind of vegetable that might be in the fridge.
But the ingredient that is of prime importance - the icing on the cake, if you will - is my own, home grown, home-dried hot peppers.
To be honest with you, I don’t even know what kind of peppers they are. A few years ago, Mary bought some hot pepper plants at the greenhouse down the street from our house. They grew and were exceptionally prolific. SO, I picked the peppers, (hundreds of them), and hung them in the mud room window (southern exposure) to dry. When they did so, I used the peppers, and saved their seeds in a bowl.
I let these seeds dry over the winter, and then, in the spring, I planted them to grow new plants. I’ve been doing this for a few years now.
These peppers are particularly tasty, and exceptionally HOT! I love them on salads!!!!!
Well, since I’ve started this new healthy-eating kick to lower my blood work numbers, I’ve been taking a salad to work every day for lunch.
Consequently, every night I spend some time preparing my salad for the next day. The last ingredient that is added to the salad is the hot peppers, which I crumble by hand over the salad.
Well, the other night after dinner, Mary and I were going to watch a NetFlix movie. Before that, however, I made my salad and put it in the fridge.
We had watched about half of the movie when Mary asked me to pause the film (I, being the male in this relationship, have sole possession of the remote, of course!) She went out to the barn to feed the horses. (I feed in the moring; she feeds at night.)
While she was gone, I took advantage of the movie being on pause, and I went to the bathroom (I had drunk A LOT of water during dinner!)
When Mary came back in, I was sitting on the couch, waiting for her. Once she settled in, I, again being master of the remote, started the movie up.
It was at this point that I began feeling strange sensations coming from my groin area. I couldn’t quite pinpoint what the problem was, but there was a slight discomfort down there. I shifted my weight around, thinking that maybe something was pinched.
It wasn’t.
After a few minutes, the discomfort escalated to the point of slight pain.
I stood up and walked into the bathroom again. I opened my pants and checked out Little Winkie down there. It felt like he was cut or had sustained a scrape or a scratch. He looked back up at me with his one-eyed grin, and I could find nothing wrong him appearance-wise.
So, I came back to the couch without saying a word to Mary Ellen.
After a few more minutes passed, the pain became so great that I couldn’t even concentrate on the movie. I began to get concerned. It was a burning sensation that kept on increasing in intensity. Was this what a bladder infection felt like? What the hell was wrong with me?!?!?!
When the pain reached a threshold of agony that could no longer be ignored, I jumped to my feet so quickly that I startled Mary Ellen. Then I dropped my drawers to my knees, began dancing around the room like a mongolian yak on peyote, and yelled out, "My freaking **** is on fire! I think you’re going to have to drive me to the emergency room!"
When she saw the look of panic in my face and heard the level of anxiety in my voice, she became very concerned and asked what was going on.
I quickly explained to Mary that while she out feeding, I urinated, and, since then, I’ve been experiencing progressively mounting pain.
Mary, being the more level-headed partner in our union and always the voice of reason, sat there for a moment in silence, mulling over the situation. Then, she looked up at me and calmly asked, "Did you wash your hands after crumbling the hot peppers into your salad?"
My elephantine rumba in the middle of the room came to an abrupt halt as I pondered her question. I gave her a blank stare for about five seconds. Then, I tore off my pants, ran for the bathroom, jumped into the bathtub, turned on the cold water full blast, and practically drowned Little Winkie in the deluge!
Relief was swift.
When I could breathe again, I climbed out of the tub, toweled myself off, silently walked back into the TV room, methodically put my pants back on, sat back down on the couch, and continued watching the movie as if nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place.
She was laughing. Not out loud. She was trying to hide it. But she was laughing, all right. Her shoulders were bouncing up and down, and her hand was covering her face. Periodically, she would take off her glasses and wipe her eyes.
Very funny.
I just sat there, staring at the television.
The freaking movie sucked.
posted on Apr 15, 2008 5:52 AM ()
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