What am I going to do when I use up all the stories about funny things that happened to me? Maybe this will become a weather blog. (I can just see it now: "Thursday March 13th: Snow. Looks like it might turn to rain. Check back tomorrow.")
Anyway, if I created 'categories' for my different types of posts, today's entry would once again fit into the category of "another story involving my body's area of manly importance." I apologize in advance to any of my regular readers who might feel that too many of my posts touch on this topic (and you know who you are... I won't name names, but just let me say, "What should we have for supper tonight, honey?").
Anyway, this is another story from the bad old days of suits, ties, and cubicles. I arrive at work, sit at my desk, drink coffee, write memos, shuffle papers, blah blah blah. About an hour or so into the morning, I start to feel... strange. And by that I really mean, my BOYS start to feel a little warm. In fact, by the time I process that they are starting to feel a little warm, they have already moved up to "Ow! Hey! Holy S**t! What the HELL is happening down there?!!" status.
Generally this doesn't happen to the boys. Typically, they just sit there, happy and comfy. So, when something unusual like this happens involving heat and pain, it prompts you into action quite quickly.
Somehow I manage to avoid the urge to drop my pants right then and there, and get to the bottom of this. Instead I get up, and work very hard to walk casually to the men's room. Tra la la, here I go, nice and casual, just trying to ignore that MY BALLS ARE BURNING. (I actually felt like running through the office, passing the reception desk and saying, "MARY!! MY TESTICLES ARE ON FIRE!! HOLD ALL MY CALLS!!")
I finally make it to the men's room, immediately get into a stall, and examine the situtation. OK. They weren't on fire, but there's an area that's definitely all red and inflamed. (By the way, wet paper towel has NEVER felt so good before, and I expect it never will again.)
At first I'm truly confused as to the cause of all this. However, I've seen lots of crime shows, so on further examination I finally discover the culprit. Somehow, a clump of laundry detergent somehow became trapped in a fold in my underwear. And you see, when it's dry, it's inert. Over time, as normal heat and moisture builds up in the area, this innocuous little lump undergoes a chemical reaction where it becomes a burning, sizzling, man's worst nightmare.
Now how to deal with this. Clearly I can't wear this underwear today. So I take them off. (By the way, it's a very strange feeling to be wearing a shirt, tie, suit jacket, and absolutely nothing from the waist down. Ok, well, maybe socks. I can't recall. But still very strange.)
All right. Everything else goes back on, and there I am, going commando. I instantly determine that there's no WAY I'll be able to make it through the day like this. It was a lightweight summer suit, and the pants were very thin. If I happened to catch a stray bad thought, or saw someone I liked, that would... well, let's just say that wouldn't be good. Unless someone needed to hang their hat.
So off I go out into the city, to find a place where I can buy some underwear. Luckily I find a store a block or two away. And let me add, walking through town while going commando in suit pants makes you VERY aware of even the SLIGHTEST breeze.
I make my purchase but have to carry them back to the office. Somehow I couldn't figure out a way to say, "A bag? No thanks, I'll just wear them home." The rest of the story proceeds in an uneventful manner. Disaster averted. All is right with the world again.
But you know how there are certain sensations that you just never forget?
THAT is definitely one of them.