For Christmas, I Cut Off My Husband’s Balls

NervousHe came walking out of the procedure room like he had a corn cob stuck up his ass. I had done it. I cut off my husband’s balls. (At least that’s what he will tell you.)

He looked at me with an uncomfortable look on his face…but said nothing. They told him ahead of time that he would have to wear an athletic supporter after the procedure. Finally I had to ask, “What’s wrong honey?” His response, “My balls feel like they are tucked in my asshole.”

For those of you who don’t know my husband, he is 6 feet tall and pushing 250 pounds. He said, “They gave me a medium.” Nothing about my husband is a medium.

He’s always been very proud of his junk. Even calls himself “King Ding-a-Ling” as he gets out of the shower and shakes it at me. So what better Christmas gift than to tell him he has to get a vasectomy? I should be getting the “Wife of the Year” award…but instead, I’m expecting divorce papers soon…

I drove him home as he told me what a big boy he was during the procedure. FINALLY. A man got to experience what it was like to have his feet up in the stirrups. Muwahahahahahaha! He explained how three women stood at the end of the table looking at him in all his glory (like I didn’t already know how that felt). But wait…Isn’t that every man’s fantasy? Alone and exposed in a room with three women. I suppose when you throw in a scalpel, it kinda takes the fun out of it. “I feel fine…it didn’t hurt at all.” I knew the numbness would wear off soon.

Annnnd, it did. We got him home and he laid on the couch. Not long after, his balls looked like he suddenly caught a bad case of elephantiasis…And that was my Christmas present to my husband. Swollen, purple, sore balls. Merry Christmas, babe!

Now…let me set the record straight. He didn’t HAVE to do it the week before Christmas. My only requirement was that it was done by the end of the year…we had already met our deductible. But we discussed this back in July…you know, the month that I pushed a 7 and a half pound basketball out of my HooHa. Seriously, you should see the size of my kid’s head. You’d want to cut your husband’s balls off too!

I guess that’s where procrastination will get you. Sore balls on Christmas. Sorry “King Ding-a-Ling.” I love you and you’re still my king, balls or no balls. (Even though you still really have them…)


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