I felt horrible yesterday. I’m a bad person. Let me explain. I had a doctor’s appointment and didn’t tell my wife. It was with a specialist that my primary physician had recommended I see six months ago as I was lying butt naked on a cold metal exam table about the width of a tongue depressor. I remember him uttering some medical mumbo jumbo and concluded with an eloquent, “You got some messed up shit going on in there, Bob.”  “Well, thanks, doc. I feel much better now.” I, of course, had been putting off seeing the specialist because of the fact that I am a world-class, card-carrying sissy with major avoidance issues.

So, why didn’t I tell Michele?  It’s very simple. If I had, she would have freaked because that’s what she does and that would have caused me to freak. Then we’d have 2 freaks freaking and who needs that?  So, instead, I told her that I had to meet with a client hoping she would just say, ‘OK,’ and be done with it…but no…she kept on asking questions and with every question, I had to offer up another lie. It’s fairly easy for Michele to tell when I’m lying because my face breaks out, I turn beet red and I fart a lot.  Her questions were normal ones but there were a ton of them including, “Are you going to have lunch?” Is he an  advertiser on the station?” What time is your meeting?” It was nothing but lie after lie after lie.  By now, my face was all blotchy and bloated and the cloud that formed in the room from my methane emissions was so thick, the cats vomited and raced out through the window.

 Being a member of the male persuasion, I think I can speak for most of us when I say, we’d rather eat poached Kale than see a doctor. Many of us testosterone-  laden men believe that if we just ignore something long enough it’ll disappear on its own.  Let’s be honest: If we put something out of our mind, we can’t  possibly dwell on it, right?  That, for us, is a far better option than dwelling and convincing ourselves that we’re going to die before the next sunrise.

I know I’m stating the obvious here but the women in our lives are far more sensible and are much better at handling this sort of thing.  The fact is,  men would probably never see a doctor at all, with the possible exception of maybe hustling him out of a few bucks on the golf course. Even  with prodding, which, in the most severe cases may involve a well-placed fireplace poker, the persistent and stubborn male can still put up some major resistance, that is until the woman pulls out her ‘ace in the hole.’

W:         Honey, have you been cutting the grass again?

M:         Why?

W:         I found your toe on the porch. Let’s go to the doctor.

M:         No, it’ll be all right.

W:         Do you ever want to have sex again?

M:         I’ll get in the car.

After looking at my chart it was determined that I was probably going to live another few days.  I let out the breath I’d been holding in for six months as he gave me a pat on the shoulder and told me to continue taking the 9th caller and giving away those highly coveted car wash certificates. . I think that may be doctor humor. Not sure. Anyway, although I was relieved,  by no means is my dilemma over. At some point in the not-too-distant future, Michele was going to discover that I lied to her about the appointment, and that will, no doubt, have serious consequences. Payback is on the way and I’ll take my medicine like a man.  I can only hope and pray it doesn’t involve Kale.


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