A year ago my wife and I decided that it was time to get the final solution. That’s right: it was time for me to get a vasectomy. Like a good husband, I immediately began working on it. I got the number of a urologist and then didn’t call, because I sure as heck don’t want somebody cutting on my testicles.
Fast forward to this weekend, when my wife gave me this delightful ultimatum while cutting vegetables for dinner on Sunday: “you’ve got three options: you call the doctor tomorrow, we stop having sex, or you drop your pants right now and get this taken care of.”
Needless to say, I called the doctor today. Now, you have to understand that we live in Europe, home to socialized medicine and forty-minute waits just to buy something in the grocery store. So what’s the likelihood that there’s a doctor waiting to perform vasectomies on demand? I was feeling pretty smug, I tell you.
You know what? Turns out that not only is Doctor Nuttencutt available, he can see me THIS AFTERNOON for a consultation! I’m freaking out now.
But honestly, what is the likelihood that I’ll be getting cut on within the next six months? Pretty low, I’m thinking.