The snowy weather has thrown off our schedule. Farmer H was within the confines of the Mansion again on Tuesday afternoon. He had just returned from his regularly scheduled urologist appointment. He'd already fed himself some lunch at White Castle on his way home. The Pony had just settled down at the marred coffee table to feast on a Dairy Queen Flamethrower half-pound burger, and onion rings.
I had my own lunch off the 2-for $4 menu ready on my tray, and was waiting for The Pony to finish up before asking him to carry my 44 oz Diet Coke, two bubba cups of ice, and the tray down those 13 unhandrailed steps. I sat down on the short couch. Had I known the turn the conversation would take, I would have risked hauling my own lunch downstairs.
Apparently Farmer H saw two doctors or nurse practitioners. One man, one woman. Not his regular doctor, who moved the practice to another county, taking most of the staff. Farmer H launched into a tale of an issue he had discussed with the woman doctor. Which made me laugh when he said she told him, "That's because you have old skin. As you get older, skin gets thinner and less elastic." Don't even ask for more details!
THEN Farmer H brought up the regular test that a man might have with a proctologist, apparently also done by a urologist.
"ENOUGH! Do we have to hear about this?"
"Yeah. I'm telling you what the doctor said."
"The Pony is TRYING to eat his lunch!"
"Yes. Please stop."
"In fact, I'm going to put on my shoe (I only wear one up and down the steps. No time for THAT tale now) and go downstairs. Pony, bring my food when you're done."
"Wow! This commercial. The side effects are worse than the disease. 'A deadly infection of the perineum--'"
"STOP! You're eating lunch! Do you even know what the perineum IS?"
"Yes, Mother. I know what it is."
"Then stop talking about it!"
See? You might not want to invite us to dinner. Or even lunch.