The Beauties of Ageing

In every man's life - and I'm referring here to the male population - there comes a point where one must endure the discomfort of a medical examination. Yesterday, I let my valve, which usually lets matter only out, be exposed to an intruder in the form of the finger of a urologist. Apart from the embarrassment one feels while lying on the examination table half-naked like a sun-bathing frog on the pavement and being exposed to the look of a significantly younger female assistant, the whole procedure was only mildly unpleasant. Not to mention one's “precious part” that shrinks and gets as tiny as a poppyseed grain when diving into icy waters. This is the effect cold examination rooms can have on men's anatomy. There goes your manhood in a split second.

Thankfully, the immediate result was reassuring, all clear, and it took the mortification away. Once the doctor finished his part, I hastily grabbed my jacket and scuttled down the stairs as an Olympic sprinter, wanting to break the records, and made a beeline for the exit. Unfortunately, this is men's destiny over the fifth decade: a yearly mild discomfiture. I hope the organ concerned will behave in the future and no dire symptoms will embitter my life, necessitating further examinations and intervention. Although the procedure only took twenty minutes, time slowed down like a genuine tai chi master, stretching the experience into what felt like an eternity.

When I returned home, it was already eight o'clock. Shocked by the experience, my mind revolved around what happened to my precious exhaust. I made a weak attempt to jot down the events, but I couldn't concentrate on anything else worth mentioning.