We were all on the living room floor over the weekend, playing or watching TV or something like that when Kathleen leaned over to Jack and whispered something in his ear. Now, what she said, I found out afterwards, was, “Tickle Daddy’s Feet.” What Jack heard though was, “Tickle Daddy’s Penis.” I was playing with Adam and was in a kneeling position when Jack’s arm shot towards my nether regions like he was Mola Ram, high priest of the Thuggee Cult in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, attempting to rip Indiana’s heart from his chest. Before I could react he’d checked me for hernias and given me a full prostate exam. I almost expected him to say, “Well Daddy, you don’t have a going problem, you have a growing problem. I’m going to write you a prescription for Avodart.”
Have you ever seen those oriental therapeutic hand balls that are used for stress relief and to prevent carpal tunnel and arthritis? The recommended method of use for them is to place both balls in the palm of one hand and rotate the balls in a circular motion using all five fingers. After this weekend I think Jack should be able to type 80 words a minute without breaking a sweat. Kathleen and I of course explained to him that my testicles were not created during the Ming Dynasty nor should never be used for therapeutic purposes. Recreational perhaps for some people, but never thrapeutic.
I’m not sure, but I think he may have actually given me a vasectomy.