It's every man's worst nightmare - the 'C' word.
No, not cancer, that would actually be better than this malady.
I'm talking colonoscopy.
I'm retracing my steps, thinking back on what may have lent to this predicament, but honestly, the answers escape me.
But thank god for my doctor, whom upon my awakening from the procedure dutifully informed me that in no point during the procedure did she spot my head anywhere in the vicinity.
Nope, it was still attached to my neck and now, I have her to validate this long-running debate between me and my spouse.
The results?
Good news, at least for me anyway.
My wife - not so much as she listens to the doctor's prognosis with reasonable disgust.
And just think, all these years she was so confident in my head being firmly ensconced up my bum.
Author's Note:
The gallon of fruit punch laxative (colon blow) you drink the night before washes down good with Tito's.
At least the first one does.
Anything after that's a waste of good vodka.
A colonoscopy at the Mayo with a woman doctor.
It doesn't get any better.