Pump It

You know, our society is pretty funny. Anytime it is mentioned, people want to congratulate Mr. Lane for getting his nuts snipped, even though it was eleven years ago. If it were me who had my tubes tied, it would go completely unnoticed, even thought it is major surgery not an out patient visit like a vasectomy.

What's even weirder is that he wanted to get fixed. I never asked or suggested. As a matter of fact, I wanted at least five children. Him, not so much. "Babe, we got a boy. We got a girl. That's all most people want." I very reluctantly agreed to his logic.

He went in for a pre-op visit the day before the big snip. He filled out a bunch of paperwork, answered a million questions and had a physical exam. When he came home, he quietly crept in the doorway, leaned against the wall, placed his hands over his face, slid down the wall into a seated fetal position and said, “I feel so violated.”

I laughed my ass off, “Old finger in the butt trick?”

“Yeah, and that bastard didn’t even give me a warning or buy me dinner.”

If Mr. Lane was born female, I have no doubt he would never go for checkups. I offered fake sympathy.

Another odd thing about our society is, when I took Mr. Lane to the out patient clinic for his "procedure" the doctor made me sign a permission slip. Swear to God! Mr. Lane was super pissed off. "Why do I need HER permission? They're my freakin' balls?"

Trying to lighten the moment, I motioned my hand as if his balls were in my fist. I raised my other hand in a fist over my head. I deepened my voice, and in my very best He-Man impersonation said, "I have the power!" Mr. Lane was not amused but doc and I were.

The surgeon explained that as a married couple, he would be altering something on his body that would directly affect me as his wife. Fuming mad, Mr. Lane said, "If Lois was knocked up and wanted to get an abortion, even if it was MY kid, she could do that without my permission. And to top it off, her doctors would keep her information private because it is a WOMAN'S CHOICE! How is that fucking fair?"

Mr. Lane isn't even against abortion, it was the principle, and he did have a point. Normally, however, he is really just a take it at face value kind of guy who goes with the flow. Typically he would never talk like that in front of a doctor. Apparently, the doc gave Mr. Lane a sedative that had an adverse reaction in my old man. It made him angry and edgy. Kind of like an unruly drunk. Doc gave him another shot of something else to shut him up. I wish I knew what was in that syringe because I sure could have used some on him the other day.

He’d gone shopping and bought me a bra. I never asked him to, and I never mentioned needing one. Excitedly, he followed me into the bathroom so he could watch me try it on. As I pulled it out of the bag I said, “Honey, it looks kinda big. A little wishful thinking, perhaps?”

“It looks like it will fit. Try it on.”

Knowing there was no way to fill a D cup, I asked, “What made you think I’m a D?”

“I remember you saying you were a D once.”

“Babe, I was breast feeding. I’m far from a D now.”

As I pulled the over-sized boulder holder onto my boobs he asked, “Who said you could get a boob reduction?” He went on to remind me of his vasectomy and having to get my permission.

“Hey, no one even asked for my permission on this boob deal either, pal.”

“Come with me.”

“I can’t go anywhere with this mega bra. Let me get my shirt back on.”

“You aren’t going to need it where you’re going.”

He raced to the front door and locked it, with the kids outside. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me into… the garage?

“What the hell are you doing? I’m not getting busy in here, babe.”

“Oh, I wasn’t planning on getting busy just yet.”

He reached for a can of Fix-A-Flat off of the shelf.

“We’ll fill that bra, get over here.”