Recently my kids became aware of the process by which one neuters a male dog. I was ignorant of their new knowledge until lunch this past Sunday.
My wife, two kids and I were seated at a booth talking about whatever it is our family tends to talk about. Mom and daughter were on one side, me and the 6-year-old boy facing them on the other. Somehow the topic of babies came up, and my 8-year-old daughter started picking
“You need to have another baby, mom!” she said, as brother egged her on. “Have another baby! You need to!”
Mom just smiled a sneaky smile, throwing a sly glance my way. “I’m not going to have any more babies. We can’t have anymore.”
“What?” said my daughter, a mixture of wry amusement and shock. “Were you fixed!? Have you been fixed mom!?”
Brother joined in. “Yeah mom, have you been fixed?”
Mom just grinned. “Nope. Not me.”
Suddenly both siblings turned their heads my way. They then questioned me with a two-word phrase as silly as it is cringe worthy.
“Dad? Have you been fixed,” they started to ask, before reiterating at a slightly higher volume. “DID YOU HAVE YOUR WIENER BALLS CUT OFF??”
They exploded in merriment. My wife joined them. I said nothing. I just looked at each in turn, then looked down at my plate, chin almost to chest, with my best sad face. I wasn’t so much acting as emoting.
“HAHAHAHAHAHA … YOU DON’T HAVE ANY WIENER BALLS NOW DAD? .. HAHAHAHAHAHA … YOU REALLY HAD YOUR WIENER BALLS CUT OUT??”
I folded my arms on the table, then buried my head in an elbow
“DAD DON’T HAVE HIS WIENER BALLS! DAD DON’T HAVE HIS WIENER BALLS!”
As they sang I slowly slid my nestled pillow of crossed arms off the table to the side, and dropped it down to the seat. Dave Chappelle couldn’t get a better reaction.
I didn’t mind the laughter. It was the repeated use of the phrase “wiener balls” that hurt. Not as bad as the actual procedure to which they crudely referred, but still … not pleasant.
As the giggling finally died down and I returned to an upright position, my son asked if he could have some ice cream from the dessert buffet. Mom said for him to ask dad to get it. So I rose with him to retrieve his sweets. As I passed my wife I whispered, “As least I’m still good for something.” She just winked.
Wiener balls ….. ugh.