Despite the complicated nature of his everyday life, the decision that lay before him at this very moment was direct and simple: to snip or not to snip. The fact that the cut in question related to the ever-important ducts that lay within his genitals is what made this black-and-white decision a bit more, uh, sensitive.
Vasectomy. The word just hung there limply in their conversations like an ugly jacket, something to be avoided unless the weather turned and all other options in the closet were somehow unavailable. And yet here it was, this vasectomy, on the table and being considered as a real sartorial possibility. More than that…it was turning into less of an option and more of a mandate.
Her argument was direct and logical. They had two healthy kids who provided more than enough sturm and drang to beat the thought of more children out of them. So for years, she had poisoned her body with all kinds of chemicals in the name of birth control. She had taken on the responsibility of consuming the small round tablet that allowed her body to become a harmless but welcoming playground, where the risks of their activities were easily ignored (and much more fun than the standard slides and swings). But the years of scoffing at the laws of Mother Goddess and her retched storks had begun to take their toll. His wife didn’t like the changes that her body was being forced to endure in the service of their carnal thrills. Inevitably, there was a price to pay for this kind of avoidance, and she was sick of picking up the bill. It was time to go dutch on their sexual behavior, and he had built a gigantic debt over the years that only drastic measures could begin to overcome.