Dr Hook is evil.
I have battled him in my dreams. Every time I’ve received a kick to the nether regions, he hovers, fingers dancing with glee. When I inadvertently took a badminton racquet to the unmentionables in my teen years, he was laughing. Cold, hard, calculating.
Today is our final battle.
Fear not for me for I have made peace with what it about to transpire. I will ask him, again, why a Penis doctor has an eye chart. I will watch as he gives me the face…again. Round 1 will be me.
He will ask me to drop my pants…and he will see that not only did I shave the spot of incision, but he will see that I shaved EVERYWHERE just to be on the safe side. Hehe, Round 2 will also be mine.
I am heading toward a decision victory.
Then the stirrups will come out. The first two rounds are a distant memory. Round 3 – Doctor Hook.
Like in a bad movie, I will realize that innocuous pill he gave me was…gasp…a sedative. I will fight to leave that office, but everything will seem outrageously funny and I will willingly jump into the stirrups…accompanied with many jokes about how I’m going to be giving birth out my butt. Round 4 could be called either way.
Then, the shiny tray is wheeled next to me by a nurse. Even though she’s 85 years old, I still flirt with her in my compromised position. I am scoring points with all judges. Victory shall be mine.
Dr Hook hits play on the CD player. The Crying Game. I realize now this has all been a ruse. Dr Hook is a master. He was playing me for a fool. And I fool I was.
The cloth is removed from the tray. Wow, that’s a long needle. Really long. And forceps. And hey, a scalpel. That’s odd, I thought this was supposed to be a No-Scalpel Vasectomy.
Well played, Dr Hook. Well played. This will not go to the judge’s cards. He will finish me before the scheduled 12 rounds.
I will not describe to you, fair reader, the horror that I will face. There will be gore, and crying (oh, how there will be crying).
Then, like a true sadist, he will patch the wound and send me back into the world.
Except everything will be different. I belonged to the Old Boys Club. I played golf every other day. I had several mistresses. I used to make fun of gays, and scheme of how I could ensure women remained, well, women. My favourite sport was arm wrestling.
I liked to talk about war. I loved cigars, and big cars, and I used to humiliate minorities for sport.
Now, I will become one of them. A liberal.
I will become a metro-sexual.
I will have nice (semi-feminine) shoes. I will declare ‘Oh my god, I love this song’ when ABBA comes on the radio. And I shall never go another day without moisturizing (my skin will be oh so supple).
My favourite sport: Cricket.
My favourite food: Are you kidding me, that’ll go straight to my hips.
My favourite movie: Any movie that Kari wants to watch
My favourite UFC Fighter: Wow, that’s violent.
Good-bye, sweet friends.
For when you see me next, I shall be an empty shell of my old self. While I will be laughing, and flirting, and speaking with my hands, deep inside I will be screaming…and no one will hear my cries.