Happy Days, Seinfeld, Breaking Bad…all good things must come to an end. And so it goes for my nut bag. The very thought of it makes me cringe and although we feel incredibly lucky to have been blessed with our miracle man and a bunette currently in the oven, I’m acutely aware the sands of time continue to spill through the hourglass. Although I’m young at heart, the body says otherwise.
Struggling to read bedtime stories under dimly lit conditions, I was told by my optometrist that I’m entering the ‘Presbyopia’ stage of life. A type of short-sightedness that affects us all over the age of 40 and currently, the majority of the Australian voting public (have you ‘seen’ our PM?). As much as I adore being a 40YrOldDad (*ahem), I have no intention of one day becoming a 50YrOldDad…with a toddler!
Hence, as Joe Hockey pointed out during the budget…cuts must be made. And so, with a gulp in my throat and a tear in my eye, it’s time to ‘git snippy widdit’ and book in for a vasectomy.
Which seems like a totally ridiculous notion. In what universe would a man EVER say to another man, “Hey, fancy punching a hole in my scrotum and snip my nads off?” Sure, I’ll just finish my beer first. Did you see where I put my Leatherman?
If ever there was two words that should NEVER be used together in a sentence, it’s ‘incision‘ and ‘testicles’. I would also accept Beiber and talented or Prime Minister and Tony Abbott.
But it’s not all bad. Imagine the possibilities. I could get a zipper down the front for easy access in case I ever need the procedure reversed. I like to play golf and could always sneak a couple extra golf balls in there in case I lose a couple on the course. Which is not an entirely bad idea, it just looks a little awkward when you’re trying to fish them out.
Perhaps a handy coin-purse? Or a tamagotchi warmer? Out of stubbie holders? I brought my own.
I know it’s a small procedure in comparison to what Mumma has to go through (ie. giving birth), but it doesn’t make me any less nervous. And I’m not nervous about never being a dad again, it just feels a little weird that when Mumma has our bunette, we’ll be taking that little bundle home with us. When I get the snip, I’ll be leaving a little piece of me behind.
Lounge crooner, Tony Bennet, may have left his heart in San Francisco, but this week I will more than likely be leaving my vas deferens…in Keysborough!