Well, it's been arranged. It's all over. Ladies, you will soon lose my beautiful sperm from the gene pool. This March I will get a vasectomy. Ladies de Kirksville, you had your chances. Mrs. Nasty got to 'em, and now they'll be officially closed out. When we wanted them to, my boys swam and gave us two beautiful children. After early March I will no longer sire children.
My phone conversation to set up the appointment was slightly humorous though. I asked the nurse, "So I just come on in and get snipped? Anything else I need to know?" She gave a polite chortle and offered some more details.
What's a bit disturbing is how my doctor's office is a regular vasectomy factory. One dude does it: Fridays at 1pm. Every week. Nothing like starting your weekend by ending your force of procreation.
I'm trying to stay positive, but recommendations of wearing tight-fitting underwear and cooling down my groin with a package of frozen corn aren't exactly prospects to look forward to.