In Slate there was an essay on one guy's vasectomy. I could probably summarize it with, "Having a vasectomy is an awkward and scary experience." I get that. I mean, who wants one of their most beloved parts operated on? And the essayist, Michael Lewis, states he had the snip snip for his wife, who had already dealt with three pregnancies, labors, and deliveries, plus "changed most of the diapers, gotten up most of the mornings, and, on top of it all, given me the leisure to write many articles complaining about the inconveniences of fatherhood." Nice lady.

So dude, I want you to know that I totally sympathize with your discomfort at having your balls shaved by a nurse and your squeamishness over the cutting of the man-parts. But there is this tiny little voice in my head saying, "Uh, at least it wasn't childbirth." I don't want to get into some one-upping thing, but dealing with nine months of discomfort culminating in an event that often involves serious pain, some lasting body trauma, and involuntarily crapping in front of your doctor is no picnic. And I missed why the author thinks he's a "traitor to his sex." Huh? Shooting blanks doesn't translate to letting the boys down, any more than giving birth makes us ladies true women. But whatever, just be grateful you didn't have someone telling you just to breathe and try not to push yet.