Let’s face it; if you live in a house full of males the way I do, there are certain conversations that, no matter how delicately you approach them, are going to be…difficult. Over the years I have had to explain how babies are made, why the bed sheets are moist (even though no one wet the bed) and why it’s important to lock the bathroom door when you need a little “private time.” However, nothing compares to the day you have to tell your better half he may want to talk to his doctor about a certain little blue pill.
Without going into the highly personal events that led up to this discussion, let’s just say the time had come to have “The Talk.” Believe me, I didn’t want to. After all, we are still in the newlywed phase of this marriage. I only got my wedding dress back from the cleaners a month ago and it seemed awfully early to be having these kinds of problems but let’s face it: the man isn’t getting any younger. His over-the-road schedule is taxing and it’s only natural that it affects every other aspect of his life.
I tried to be subtle at first. I quoted a statistic I heard on a commercial which suggested 40 percent of males over the age of 40 have this kind of issue and it’s not as rare as one might think.
“Did you know it was that common?” I asked.
“Nope,” Mr. Oblivious replied, fixing himself a bologna and cheese sandwich.
After dropping a few more hints he refused to pick up on, I was deflated and in a moment of desperation, I made a spur-of-the-moment, ill-conceived decision that caused my cycle to go out of whack and left me in a state of panic for a week and a half. Once the scare passed, I informed him that I would never be so reckless again, not even to boost his fledgling “ego.”
“Look, I understand this is uncomfortable for you and I sympathize with that, but these changes are a natural part of life. Luckily, the whole thing can be solved medically and it’s really not a big deal, but you have to book the appointment and find out what a doctor can do for you,” I insisted.
“Fine,” he sighed limply, resigned to his fate. “I’ll schedule an appointment tomorrow.”
He did…and scheduled a vasectomy.
Folks, I could not make this up if I tried. The man scheduled a vasectomy! While I admit my solution also began with the letter “V” I assure you a vasectomy was not what I had in mind. When he told me the news, I blinked the way Boy Wonder does whenever I’ve thrown too much information at him. “Um…exactly why are you getting a vasectomy?” I inquired.
“You told me to,” he said.
Oh no I didn’t. I assure you that at no point in this discussion did I ever lobby for a vasectomy. First of all, why would I do that when I am in perimenopause? And secondly, how sick would I have to be to suggest the secret to extending his endurance begins with a sharp object?
For the life of me, I could not figure out how he had arrived at this conclusion. I mean, was he not present for the false starts and stops over the past few months? What did he think the problem was and more importantly, why did he think a vasectomy would solve it?
I replayed my words in my head and realized that although I never campaigned for the procedure, I never really said what I wanted. I danced around the subject with innuendo, but I was never blunt. I remedied that situation with a few choice statements that I won’t repeat them here. Trust me; I got my point across.
I doubt it will be the last time we have a communication breakdown, but hopefully the next misunderstanding does not come down to two words whose only similarity is a starting letter and are the difference between taking gold in the freestyle or merely being dead in the water.