I had my annual physical Monday. I asked my doctor if we could do a test to see if I am capable of fatherhood.
The test came with a small plastic cup and a long list of instructions, including:
1. Refrain from intercourse 72 hours prior to collection
2. Obtain specimen by masturbation or by special direction from doctor.
5. Record time collected on lab slip.
6. Bring specimen to laboratory within one hour after collection.
"You need a sympathetic ear," I call a friend.
"I don’t need a sympathetic ear," she says. "I need you to —- me."
"Your mouth."
"That is so rude."
"Honey, I’m about to make a deposit in my plastic cup."
"Has it been 72 hours?"
"No. It’s been 68 hours but I’m about to blow a gasket. I just can’t fight this feeling anymore. I want you to be on the phone with me at this special time."
"I’m sitting at my desk at work. I’m surrounded. I can’t think now. Has this been hard? But you’re a disciplined man."
"I live my life by higher values. I’ve got to pick up Daisy in a few minutes, so I have to be quick about this."
"Are you going to watch a video? What are you going to do?"
"I’m going to review this week’s Torah portion with Rashi."
"This is so not fair. This is so wrong. I can’t really breathe."
"Yoga tonight."
"But you’re not going to be any use to me, are you?"
"What about my personality?"
"Sorry, I forgot. Beside, I’m probably of no use to you."
"Exactly."
"That’s sexist."
"Last night at the beginning of class, the teacher, in front of everyone, asked me if my friend was OK because she left in the middle of class and didn’t come back. I yelled back that you were fine, just depressed."
"You were like, she just needed to be on all fours for an hour and she was fine."
"He would’ve felt a lot better. He told us the story of how he met his wife. It was the day Yogi Bhajan had everyone eat icecream. Then he called my teacher into his room. There were two women in the room. Yogi Bhajan said to him, ‘I want you to talk to this woman. You’ve got 20 minutes. Let me know your decision.’
"’That woman became my wife.’"
"I feel so helpless."
"I’ll be thinking of you the whole time.
"We could do the healing meditation or the candlelight yoga."
"Are you going to blog this?"
"Yeah, but in a very subtle way so that the rabbis can’t tell what I’m talking about. I’ll go tiptoing through the tulips and nobody will be the wiser."
As masturbation is a very serious sin in Judaism, I turn to my doctor for assistance. As he is male, he refers me to a very comely female colleague who takes me into a private room, changes into a provocative lacy number, and provides the special direction I require.
"Tell me I’m powerful," I gasped.
"You’re powerful," she said. "You’re the most powerful blogger in Pico-Robertson. All the rabbis fear you."
"Tell me again that all the rabbis fear me."
"All the rabbis fear you because you are more macho than they are. More mano a mano. More of a man’s man. You know more Torah. You do more mitzvahs. You are closer to HaShem."
"Tell me I’m an elite Israeli pilot."
"You’re an elite Israeli pilot. You’re the best. You’re flying your big bomber over Iran and you’re about to drop your load on their dangerous nuclear facilities."
With that image, I released into the small plastic container.
It was not particularly satisfying. I think I could design something much more pleasing, something long and tight and warm that vibrates and plays "Jerusalem" at just the right moment.
