No kicker in the balls, please
The Day I Checked My Testicles for Cancer One Time Too Many
I also did the dishes that day
My wife didn’t murder me while I was washing the dishes. She waited till I finished.
But let me backtrack a bit.
It was a sunny Sunday morning. The ones we usually see in commercials for tampons and pads. Sometimes we see them in PSAs for testicle cancer checking, but these have more of a Saturday feeling.
We had friends coming over and an empty fridge. Grocery shopping had just been moved to DEFCON 4. I was too busy checking my testicles for cancer to help my wife. So she went by herself. I check my testicles regularly. And so should you.
When she came back home, I was outside, checking the dog’s testicles for cancer, which explains why I couldn’t help with the seven bags she had brought from the supermarket.
On a side note, that looked like too much food. But I wasn’t the expert here. So I just told her, “seven bags, Honey? That seems a lot to me. But I’m no expert, so I guess you know what you’re doing.”
My wife launched the magical procedure that transforms grocery bags into — mostly — delicious food. Don’t tell her about the “mostly.” Even if I’m dead, she would dig me out and murder me again. I don’t want that.
I wish I could have whispered my customary “do you need help, Honey?” but I was too busy checking my testicles. The dog’s testicles had a slightly different feel, and I needed to cross-check on mine.
On a side note, since my wife has 20/20 hearing, the sentence works best whispered from the attic, hidden in grandma’s old trunk, wearing several masks. Thanks to COVID, I found that double masking isn’t as useless as some people think.
Funnily enough, my wife and I finished our handwork at the same time. There were five minutes left before the guests’ arrival. That was just about enough time for me to check the dog’s testicles and for my wife to set the table for eight. We enjoy having lots of guests. More testicles to check; you know?
When our guests arrived, everything was ready, and, thankfully, the dog’s testicles seemed OK. That’s what I told my wife when I saw the beautifully set table. She looked at me strangely, as if she was expecting different words from me. I found it troubling. Had she checked the dog’s testicles and found something? I made a mental note to check them as soon as we were done with the guests.
A few hours later, we said our goodbyes. The food was delicious — this time — and everybody was happy. “All right! Time to clean up and do the dishes,” my wife said, looking at me. I know she’s very perceptive and helpful but didn’t expect her to be so easy about it. “Oh! Honey! Thank you for taking care of it. I need to check the dog’s testicles.”
That’s when my wife pulled out a gun from her apron. “Oh! How thoughtful of you! This a new type of testicle-checking instrument, right?” I asked.
“No, darling, it’s a gun. Now stop scratching your balls and do the dishes.”
A story inspired by Baskerville Old Face, who observed that: No woman ever murdered her husband while he was washing the dishes.
Thanks also to Andrew, who used the sentence as a prompt here:
And it’s in honor of the Cap who “owns” the testicles tag.
On a more serious note, here’s a link for testicles checking:
