CLEAN AS A WHISTLE

     I only asked for one thing this year for Christmas.  I did that on purpose too.  I did that to see if I would get it.  When you are the only man living in a house full of women, it seems that my wants fall a distant second to the wants of the women.  My girls hate when they tell me some outrageous thing that they want and I reply, "It is good to want things."  That response is always good for a legitimate eye roll.  Those eye rolls are the only things that keep me going sometimes.

     It all works out though.  I always seem to get what I need, regardless of what I want.  They always give me what I need.  What I need to survive.  Not much more than what I need to survive, mind you.  But, honestly, I don't deserve much more than that.

     So, this year, I asked for one thing.  I asked for a book.  A five hundred page book about my favorite football team.  And you know what I got?  I got that book!  I got another gift too.  It was a surprise.  I love surprises.  It was wrapped in a plastic Rite Aid bag.  These girls are always joking around with me like that.  So I reached in and pulled out the goodies.  I got a 64oz bottle of Gatorade, two 5mg Dulcolax tablets, and a 238g bottle of Miralax.  I looked at them for a second.  I have gotten pretty good over time at reading the subliminal messages these women silently scream at me.  This one had me stumped, though.  

     I looked up at the girls, all smiling smugly at me.  So I did what all men do in this situation.  I faked it.  I said, "This is perfect!  How did you guys know?  It is just what I wanted!  Green Gatorade too!  The original Gatorade!"  The kids started rolling on the floor, convulsing in alternating spasms of shrieking laughter and shrieking shrieking.  Trixie sat on the sofa.  She was sizing me up.  I have seen her size me up for years now.  I knew she knew my size too.  I had no idea what she was sizing me up for.  I am a big size.  I only knew it had to be big.

     "Do you know what that gift is for?" Trixie asked. 

     "Sure I do, it is for me." I answered like I just aced an exam.

     "Correct.  It is for you and your prep."

     "My prep? What am I prepping for?" I said.  The girls stopped laughing but they kept up with their convulsing and shrieking shrieking.  Girls can convulse for quite some time you know. They can shriek even longer than that.  

      "You are prepping for your colonoscopy." Trixie said.

     "A colonoscopy?"

     "A colonoscopy."

     "When?

     "Day after tomorrow."

     "Ok, let me get this straight.  You scheduled me for a colonoscopy two days after Christmas? So that means that I can spend the day after Christmas, the immediate day after this Christmas day, the twenty four hours after I have celebrated the birth of my dear sweet Baby Jesus, my Lord and Savior, to prep for a colonoscopy?

     "Merry Christmas Daddyboy!" Sugar said.  "Can they get some pictures of your colon so I can take them to school?" 

     "Look at the bright side.  You can eat all you want today," Trixie said.

     "Daddyboy does that everyday anyway Mom," Sugar said.

     "Or I could just cut to the chase and throw my dinner in the toilet.  You know?  To save a couple of steps," I said.

     So we had our Christmas.  And we ate a fabulous meal.  I almost felt sorry for that food as I crammed it down with even more zeal than usual.  I felt like I was playing a cruel trick on that food.

     After dinner I said to Trixie, "So you guys got me the book that I wanted to trick me into getting a colonoscopy?"

     "No." Trixie said, "We got you the book so that you would have something to keep you company while you are prepping." 

     "Keep me company?  You mean you guys aren't going to be here?"

     "Are you kidding me?  We don't want to be around for that!  We are going shopping." 

     So I prepped.  And I read.  I was on page two hundred and twenty two when I thought I might be done prepping, so I went in to take a nap.  Nope.  On page three hundred and sixty four, I laid my head on the sink and did manage to sleep for a few minutes.  At page four hundred and twelve I ran out of toilet paper and made a panicked break for a roll of Charmin.  And by page four hundred and fifty one, it was done.  To be sure, though, I sat there and finished reading that book.  Even though I knew the ending, the book was really good.  Sometimes you get what you want. Sometimes you get what you need.  Sometimes you get both. 

     That is all.

Post Prep

     My doctor told me in a wonderfully understandable Indian accent that everything looked great.  "Clean as a whistle," he said.

     He also said that under sedation, there are two kinds of people.  Those who never say a word and those who never shut up.  

"Which one am I, Doc?" I asked.  

"You live in a house with women don't you?" he asked.  

"Yes."'

"Me too," he said.