Good Morning Mr. Testicles...

About a week ago, I was sitting in a waiting room at the Doctor's office.

An older gentleman about the age of 70, sat down directly across from me. He was a rather large man with broad shoulders and forearms that, even at his age, still seemed quite formidable. He had white hair, dark glasses and a perfectly trimmed mustache that reminded me of my Uncle Bill.

He was wearing a navy blue polo shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of khaki shorts, held up by a dark brown, canvas belt. He donned white tube socks that were pulled up past his calves. He sported a pair of good, old fashioned boat shoes on his feet.

He looked like the kind of guy that would tell you war stories and bad jokes. He was probably concealing a tattoo of a screaming, American eagle on his shoulder.

For no reason at all, I wanted to know him better.

After about a minute, he shuffled in his chair and crossed his legs to get comfortable.

Then without warning...

BAM!!!

His testicles were hanging out of the bottom of his shorts.

When I say they were hanging out of the bottom of his shorts, I don't mean just a wee bit.

I mean they were completely and unequivocally exposed.

It's as if he were the captain of a ship, set sail on the vast sea and his testicles were the anchor thrown overboard to ground his boat amidst choppy waters.

I sat and stared for a moment to make sure I hadn't erred in my sighting.

Nope.

Testicles.

I looked away with an awkward posture, as if I had heard an errant noise from across the room.

A loon perhaps?

I couldn't recall ever having been in such close contact with another man's testicles.

It was a strange feeling.

This man that I had instantly felt a connection with, had unknowingly revealed to me, a side of himself that had most likely not been seen by many before me; aside from those in his inner most circle.

What appeared at first, to be nothing more than a chance encounter with a wrinkled skin sack, stuffed with marbles, was seeming more and more like a test of wills.

I periodically scanned the room with my peripheral vision. I was nervous that someone else would enter the room. Is it my responsibility to inform this man, that his rather swollen looking scrotum had escaped from his underpants?

Does one man have a moral obligation to his brother when situations such as this arise?

"Excuse me kind Sir. I couldn't help but notice that your testicles have fallen from your shorts."

"Why thank you young lad. Here's a nickle."

If I were in his predicament, would I expect the aforementioned common courtesy? Or would I want to be spared the embarrassment, in order to preserve my dignity.

What you don't know, can't hurt you...

Or can it?

When I was around the tender age of 8 or 9, I had a crush on my babysitter. She was pretty and cool and exactly all of the things babysitters should be to a young boy. One evening, she and a friend were watching my younger brother and me. I was in my pajamas. I vividly remember sitting on the wooden floor of my living room, listening to Billy Joel's, The Stranger. I was hamming it up for the girls, singing the words and making silly faces. They were laughing. Then the laughing changed. There was the shortest of moments, where something in the tone of their laughter, shifted. They weren't laughing with me any more. They were laughing at me. I followed their eyes. I followed them down to the ground. My testicles were sticking out of my pajamas. My smooth, small, 9 year old testicles. The most vulnerable moment in my life. I have not been the same since...

I can't do it my friend.

Despite all of my best efforts, I cannot save you from your testicles.

I cannot save you from yourself.

The memories are too painful.

I cannot live them again.

I wish you and your testicles nothing but good fortune and prosperity in life.

I am so sorry.