that's the fact, jack

I am not always a good wife. It is not that I don’t care, because I do. It really means a lot to me to be a good wife, maybe not so much a good “wife” as much as a good spouse or life companion. Either way, sometimes I suck at this job. And yes, it is a job. Yet another job of mine in which I receive no financial compensation, but take advantage of all the sexual harassment.

So, I digress. I am not always a very good wife. Dan recently underwent a minor surgical procedure --- and let me make this absolutely clear…..it was a MINOR SURGICAL PROCEDURE. We are talking, he goes into the office, gets a shot of Valium, and is back out in the lobby within 30 minutes. Yes, brace yourselves men, I am talking about a vasectomy. Now, I won’t bore you with the inner-struggle Dan underwent in deciding to have this procedure. The back and forth, the hem and haw, the yes and no went on for months. MONTHS!!! Finally, Dan was able to reach his decision when it was made clear to him that I didn’t mind if we had 15 more children, but that I would NOT be able to stay home and would be returning to the workforce within 20 minutes of being released from the hospital, post-delivery. Look, I have heard of other women who threaten to withhold sex from their husbands until they agree to this procedure and I have always wondered why. Why should I punish myself? What is the point in that? Truth be told I am reaching an age where taking birth control pills just isn’t healthy. And my vagina and I had a long discussion in which we agreed not to “party like it’s 1999” ever again. So, my winga and I explained the situation to Dan and he saw our point and agreed to a MINOR PROCEDURE.

After weeks of stress, agony and worry, and one cancelled appointment, Dan goes in with a brave face and comes out with a small bag containing his balls. Just kidding. I’ve had those balls in my purse since our wedding day. Kidding! I kid because I love. I take the boy home and tuck him into bed with pain pills and ESPN on full blast. Ahh, paradise. Now I spend the next 7 long days having conversations (more like listening to him talk) about “how more aware” he is of his left testicle, how “intense” the tenderness is, how scared he is to cough, how nervous he is about the children “jumping at him”, etc, etc, etc!!! As day 9 “post-op” slowly and defiantly crawls towards me I prepare for another day listening to the daily play by play of how the fellas are holding up. I’m getting a little cranky and am complaining to my mother about how I can’t take anymore, she is telling me to be nice and kind while I am biting my tongue until it bleeds. Dan comes up from the basement to find me to give me yet another update about how he is doing, but instead of hearing about his stitch, and yes I said STITCH, as in ONE AND ONE STITCH ONLY (note: amount of stitches has no bearing on the size of one’s manhood), he looks kind of sad. When I inquire what is up he tells me he had been watching a rerun of a sitcom that focused on a married man with 3 kids. This particular episode was mainly about the kids and the kind of chaos they can cause. Dan said that something about seeing those kids made him kind of “sad” and he realized that we wouldn’t be adding to our current level of chaos. I was shocked. I sat him down in a chair, took his hand in mine, and calmly explained that what he was experiencing was normal, something we all have experienced. Quite simply, Dan had a bad case of buyer’s remorse.