The Pleasure and The Pain

Three months ago...

"So this is the window." I say trying to sound light-hearted. "We have to leave in half an hour at the latest.  I hope we don't get stuck on the M1."

The response I receive is a 'look' and then a huffy retreat upstairs.

Leave him to it I think...feeling a little bit irritated then guilty for my irritation.  

A few minutes later the man of my dreams appears in the doorway holding a very small pot and asking how the bloody hell he is supposed to "get it in there?"  I look at the pot and have to agree it does look very small, "especially for you my love," well, whatever gets the job done!

I hadn't taken any notice of the pot when it was given to me at the doctors.  To be honest I was more concerned about being made to say the word 'semen' twice in a silent doctor's waiting room by a receptionist out for a bit of fun.  

By a twist of good fortune I was able to find another, larger, sample pot at home just sitting there waiting to fulfil its destiny.  So, with the clock ticking I suggest that maybe he would like a bit of help to you know, do the deed.  Well you would think I had offered to cut it off and I couldn't help but point out that there are worse things he could have to do.  I mean nobody was sticking a syringe in his arm or drawing blood.

Anyway, he eventually stepped up and the sample was safely deposited, despite the man of my dreams refusing to speak or make eye contact with the receptionist and staring intently out of the window for the five minutes involved in dropping off the sample.  He did at least find it in him to sign his name. 

Oh well, must dash, I'm late for my smear!