One wouldn’t think that infertility testing could be hilarious, but one would be wrong. One would be very wrong.
In the midst of the doctors poking and prodding my twig and berries, (mostly the berries...ouch!) I was sent to give a sample at the lab. If you think this might be a bit awkward, you would be very right.
Fortunately, I have both a sense of humor and a sense of perspective. Some guys I know have expressed horror at the thought of having to go to such a place. I scoff. We guys are privileged in this category. We never have to hear the word “speculum”. When looked at in this light, a little bit of non-recreational alone time is not so big a deal. Can I get an amen, ladies?
Pro tip: do not ask the cute nurse to “give you a hand.” She’s heard that one. 146,783 times.
Entering the “sample delivery room”, the nurse pointed out the “useful materials” and handed me the cup. I took a slow, deep breath, trying my absolute best not to blush. I may have succeeded. I may not have. She darted from the room, leaving me alone for my hot date with me.
Pro tip. That can of Lysol in the corner is your new friend. This lab has been open for 17 years. Think about it.
I of course looked around the room at said useful materials…I mean, free porn is free porn, right? I looked at the stack of magazines first. Lying on top was an issue of Cosmo. Cosmo? COSMO?? I think we’ve identified the problem. If your first choice for inspirational material to accompany packing the hand cannon is Cosmo, it’s entirely possible you should hang it up right now. I mean, wasn’t that the magazine that had Hasslehoff with the pug in his lap?
I continued to look at the magazines, my curiosity piqued. The next offering had a photoshoot of Paris Hilton in various outfits. Sorry, gang, that’s not going to help. I’m sure she’s helped a lot of men get there, but usually in person. Of course, if bagging skeletons is your thing, have at.
The rest of the stack was somewhat predictable, with appearances by Playboy, Penthouse, and a couple of, shall we say, specialty magazines. I had no idea you could do that with feet. I can’t unsee that. Why can’t I unsee that?
Pro tip: You really can't unsee that. Don't let curiosity get the better of you. It freaking killed the cat...you really think you're going to do better?
Finished with the perusal of the magazine stack, I took a look at the video they had available to inspire a ménage-a-mois. The title read “All Anal Action volume 9.” I think we have identified your problem. That’s not where it goes for baby-makin’, people. A mental “helloooooo…McFlyyyyyy” passed, and I decided to eschew the video.
I won’t go into the details, but eventually I had a sample to turn in. This, it turns out, is when my internal monologue decided to really crank it up. That same cute nurse is there at the desk, waiting. And she knows what you’ve done. A thousand witty remarks passed through the halls of bad ideas. I just couldn’t bring myself to utter any of them. I decided I’d be polite about this. I turned in the paperwork and the cup, and just smiled and said thank you. Unfortunately, I really just can’t help myself some days.
“Have a nice day” she said.
“I did!” I said. And out the door I went.