Sunday, March 12, 2006

two's company....

It’s as if a veil were lifted.

Two days of complete sobriety. I think it must be a similar sensation to that experienced by people who have recently given up smoking. Except that it’s not only affected my sense of taste and smell, (mind you I did find myself feeling awkwardly bloody starving at a christening this morning which is an unusual experience as I don’t normally have much of an appetite), but the world seems a bit brighter, less vapid, more in focus. I don’t like it at all (it’s unnerving).

Why? Why this sudden onslaught of sensibility? Well (if you’re eating dinner, or of a sensitive nature then you might prefer to blog off now)….

If you’re a man, or indeed you’re a woman who has slept with a man, you’ll know what Neanderthals we can be in the morning? No matter how civilised we are, when we sleep we are dragged to a place in a cave a with a flickering flame, a thousand generations ago where we idly cuddle a club and pick at parasites in the fur on our bum while we snort and gasp our way through slumber. In those few blissful moments between sleep and awareness, the twilight world, we still exist in our prehistoric state before we fully comprehend the soft pillow and chime of the alarm.

I’ve seen women make the transition between sleep and wakefulness gracefully, blooming into a new day with a flickering of the eyelids, a purr and a smile. You’re a lady you see, made of sugar and spice and all things nice - even should you fart a little while you stretch, it’s not the cacophonous racket that we make, more of a squeak than a fanfare to greet the new day.

What tends to happen next to the male of the species is a lot of scratching, bottom and belly scratching mostly, which I think is probably a genetic hangover. My Spaniel still does it, he wakes up and straight away puts his foot in his ear and waggles it about to rearrange the tangled fur in there.

And every morning, almost involuntarily, unconsciously, we check to see if our testicles are still there, to make sure that the bollock-elf hasn’t stolen them away during the night. (Italian men do this once every five minutes, draw your own conclusions).

So on Friday morning I went through the whole sordid business of slipping unsalubriously back into the waking world. With a scratch and great deal of rubbing at the dried spittle in the corners of my eyes, and the usual mild panic and pushing at the baboon on my chest, I followed my instinct and my hand went to check on the family jewels.

And I discovered I was rich.

Bear in mind this is an involuntary action. There’s the same result every day, you don’t hear men mutter, “good, still there”, it’s a bit like alarming the car, we know we’ve done it but it’s reassuring to hear the “beep beep”? So I spat out the pillow and rolled over testing knees and elbows for signs of rigor mortis, and knocked, as I always seem to, the open book by my side off the bed perilously close to the glass of water by the bed….before the message from my fingers finally arrived at my brain. Something was different, something had changed.

Something that required a more thorough examination. It was almost immediately apparent what the difference was. How should I put this, picture if you will the contents of my scrotum…..no? Well let’s say it’s a miniature solar system, just the two planets of relative size, the earth perhaps, and venus, except today when my universe had suddenly gained a moon. Not a full grown planet, but a substantial celestial object nonetheless.

I lay and worried for a bit, then switched on the tv and retrieved my glass of water. Then I checked again, with the same out come, One…two…two and a half.

mmmm.

Time for coffee and shower and the rest of the morning ritual completing the transmission from knuckle scratching Neanderthal to urbane, civilised man about town (yes I’m laughing too!). All accompanied with the affected nonchalance of a person denying an urge to give in to mild panic.

My doctor’s surgery is on the way to the office and I arrived at 8.37. The waiting room was already full of coughing and sneezing adults and leaking children. It’s a shared practice, the receptionist asked my name (three times between ‘phone calls), and told me that my doctor was away on holiday. I told her that I thought it was rather urgent and she offered me an appointment with the locum next Wednesday. I told her that I didn’t think it would wait that long (by my estimation if I went to bed one night and woke up with the something the size of a cherry in the morning, if it grew exponentially, by the time my appointment arrived I might have to return with a wheel barrow), she said it was the best she could do. I told her it was delicate, she said there was a lot of influenza around. I told her that in that case I would sit in the waiting room with my scrotum exposed and show it to a doctor if they passed by. She said she would see what she could do….

Some hours later the good lady doctor asked me what appeared to be the problem, and I suggested that she might like to put on some gloves.

I have a fatty cyst, it’s completely unattached and quite unremarkable. Absolutely nothing to worry about. Boy, did I feel silly?

Not in the least.

Except that when she offered me the prescription and said not to drink alcohol I nodded gravely and completely ignored her. Generally the problem with drugs and alcohol is that alcohol is a diuretic, it makes you pee a lot and dilutes the efficacy of the drug – but whatever the hell it is that she gave me really doesn’t agree with booze. I was a naughty boy (and I think my last act was to email as much to a friend).

So, I’m enjoying a second childhood, I’m sober and I have a pocket of marbles.

22 comments:

Melissa said...

Holy balls, Col. I go to New York for 3 days and you grow a third testi... no, um... you sprout a cyst. I'm glad it's minor and really nothing. Aren't you glad you check now? Nothing like a morning routine...

Stacy The Peanut Queen said...

That was HILARIOUS! Not finding the "extra knobby thing" but...well, you know what I mean.

Glad to hear everything's okay though...and no, whenever you find an extra lump anywhere, have it checked out! How scary that must've been!!!

P.S. Thanks...I now know that The PK must be part Italian....'specially when he's drinking....he CONSTANTLY um..."checks his package".

patti_cake said...

I'm glad it is going to be okay Col I know you were scared to death! I am wiping tears from laughing about the bollock elf comment! You are SO funny

krisbtterfly said...

holy hell, fish. i'm glad you went to the doc and made sure they saw you that day- you are finally the proof that men need when they are asked the reason why they check their beanbags in the morning.

*WHEW* glad it's just a cyst.

Gerbera Daisy said...

Glad to hear the universe has not gained a moon afterall, but only a cyst. I am glad you insisted you be seen by the dr. and you got the needed medicine.

Pam said...

Only a very talented person could write about finding a lump in a place it shouldn't be and not only have us laughing but entranced until the end. Colin, you need to think about being a writer if not professionally, then as a hobby. You are TERRIFIC!

Seven said...

Colin,
Apart from this being a a grand read, I suggest you try to keep the third testicle. This can be quite the source of amusement and story telling you know. How many among us have three orbs in the solar system?...many a lass might want a little touchy feel to confirm you are an honest bloke...one with three nuts at that! Why be normal?

Jenn said...

I love your explanation of a man waking up in the morning. So funny!

Glad everything's turning out OK. I think Rick might have a point...a threesome down below might be a date-getter.

Not that I know anything about that or anything.

a fish on a bycicle said...

With the greatest respect, I don't think "would you like to see my cyst" is really a goer...

Deadly Female said...

Oh Fish!

Shephard said...

I agree with Pam. Who else could make finding a third testicle an entertaining read. Not to mention think of the panic you've saving other men who find such things.

One thought... shame you didn't find it on Easter really... I can only imagine how you'd have told the this tale, involving the Easter bunny, etc. lol

~S

Wendy said...

LMAO! Ok, first I'm cracking up at the post (Sorry Col, not to make light of your growth...) but, you do write so that I cannot help but giggle. Then, I'm laughing at Rick, and then I really started laughing at Shephard! An Easter egg (testicle) hunt ... THAT is how you could have a date ... with a 'hunt'. No no no ... that'll never do!

I'm just glad it's a cyst and nothing more. Frightening eh? That's like the time I thought my boobs were finally growing (I was about 20) ... only THEY weren't ... only one was. Had that fixed, and it didn't get me any dates anyway.

Good thing you adjust the package so well!!

Seven said...

There is a saying in Texas that goes like this: 'No guts, no glory.' Meaning that you have to have the nerve to try things or you will find no glory.
Try the subtle 'would you like to see and feel my three nuts' scenario on a homely girl you don't know....if it works, gradually move up the line until Reese Witherspoon is phoning to see and feel them.
Don't be shy. No guts, no glory.

a fish on a bycicle said...

Rick, I say no! No guts, no glory, and quite definitely no nut juggling!!

Sandra said...

I'm glad you can see the humorous side of it, but things like that shouldn't be able to just grow overnight like that. What if you'd been on vacation and couldn't find a doctor. What if you were an astronaut on a 3 month mission in space? Scary that those things can grow so quickly, that's all!

Deranged Doctor said...

Bit of a shame, really, that you won't use it for all it's worth - damn you and your "morals," anyway. But at least you're all right.

Magpie said...

i love the idea of the bollock elf...lol - thank god you are alright, i would have loved to have seen the receptionists face when you dropped your pants...

:0)

Aine said...

"should you fart a little while you stretch, it’s not the cacophonous racket that we make, more of a squeak than a fanfare to greet the new day."

Oh no, my ex and I used to have farting competitions in bed together, and I'm every bit as accomplished as he is. :D

Gerbera Daisy said...

just checking in to see how you are today. hope the meds are working.

Just Some Gal said...

I keep trying to form a comment that isn't laced with giggles... Farting competeitions to threes company...

I am ever so glad you're ok.

Aims said...

Was that last email the one you sent me? Can't have been actually that was the other weekend. But still I am proud to be the recipient of a drunken email from you at last!
Glad you are ok mate. It is always better to be safe than sorry.

Anne said...

Wow..I have heard of third nipples...but this...

Only you could have made this story that funny :)