I've come to the conclusion that kids are like cream cakes. Everyone loves them, they can bring supreme pleasure to your life. The best of times are to be had when it's just the two of you alone, sharing some quality time together. All too soon, you know they'll be gone, so you try to make the most of every second you have together.
Of course, too many of them make you feel sick!
I've got two kids now, one of them is still at the stage where she wants all your attention, nothing seems to satisfy her for longer than ten minutes, and all she ever seems to do is eat and sleep. She's a teenager; the other one's just a baby.
Yes, I know there's a long gap between the two of them, but I realised that I actually didn't need to have any sort of life of my own until I'm retired. After all, what would I want with money anyway? I'd only spend it enjoying myself, and it could be much better spent on Pokemon cards and Boyzone c.d. s.
Actually that's not fair. Looking at where the money goes month to month, allowing for an endless supply of nappies and milk and sleepsuits and cotton wool for the baby, and all the usual household expenses, there isn't actually much spare cash left. There was an occasion in March when I thought I had two pounds left at the end of the month, but the school realised they hadn't held a raffle or sponsored uniform day for almost a week by then, so they took that!
Anyway, it was after the second one came along that we decided to take drastic action. After a long discussion between my wife and I, we agreed that a vasectomy was the only real long term solution. When I say we agreed, I mean of course that she decided that was what would happen, and dinner went into the dog until I realised she was right.
She's an amazing woman, my wife. She has that ability women have of knowing all the levels at which a conversation takes place. Whereas I thought we were discussing a forthcoming sterilisation program, it turned out we were actually talking about how much I loved her, equality between genders, how often I make caustic remarks about her mother, whether I ogle other women, that I'm too lazy to do the ironing…the list is endless. For instance, I'd say "What if it affects my sex drive?" and she would reply "That will be a good thing, maybe it will stop you eyeing up that tart from number 23 every time she walks past." Not that this is true of course, the tart from number 17 has much nicer breasts.
I'd say "Will sex still feel the same" and she'd say things like "It doesn't matter either way, it's been so long since you last gave me a servicing I can't remember what it was like anyway!"
Now this surprises me, because when it comes to memory we are complete opposites. She seems to have a good memory in most things. She can remember me flirting with her sister in 1985, and recount every word I've ever said in every argument we've ever had, she always remembers our anniversary the day it occurs, whereas I always remember the day after. She forgets to get bin bags or shaving foam, but she knows what brand of shoes I was wearing the day we met. She always remembers my birthday, but always forgets that I have enough socks!
But I digress. It soon became clear that either we did it her way, or she'd wait until I was asleep and do it herself with two housebricks. I've never liked crushed nuts even on an ice cream, let alone in my underwear, so I gave in and went to find out what I had to do.
There's a small clinic in town called The Lodge, offers the service as a day procedure. I picked up a leaflet, and they made it sound very simple, very routine, very straightforward. Of course, a leaflet on double glazing makes it sound very cheap and affordable, but no-one believes those either. Still, I read on. I was okay with it until I got to the small print at the end. "The Lodge is the premier local training provider for this service in the South East, and offers GPs and other health professionals the chance to refresh their skills in this elective procedure"
