Poor Christian.
He's gotten it in his head that at HIS age, he would like an heir. I don't know what it is about men, but, when they get old, they get crazy ideas.
"Ana," he told me, "I want to have a baby.
"Silly dear," I told him back, "men can't have babies."
"I wasn't talking about me."
"Well, don't look at me. I'm too old."
"And I wasn't talking about you."
His plan was that we hire a surrogate for him to impregnate.
"How do you know that your sperm is still fertile?" I asked him.
"I guess that's something I'll have to find out," he said.
So we went to see Dr. Bombay, his personal physician, to check out his fertility.
"Ah ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!" Dr. Bombay said.
"I'm serious," Christian told him.
The doctor immediately stopped laughing. He knew which side his bread was buttered on.
"Take this specimen cup," Dr. Bombay told him, handing it to him, "fill it, and bring it back tomorrow."
"Why Is the cup so heavy?" Christian wanted to know.
"Heavy?" the doctor said. "It's made out of plastic."
"Yes, but it's a heavy plastic."
We went back the next day and Christian handed his old friend an empty cup.
"It's empty," the doctor said. "What happened?"
"Well," Christian stammered, embarrassed, "First, I tried doing it with my right hand. Nothing. So, I tried doing it with my left, and still nothing."
Christian looked at me to continue the story.
"That's when I used my right hand, Dr. Bombay."
"And what happened?"
"Nothing. So I tried with my left. Still nothing."
"What did you do then?" the doctor wanted to know.
"I told her to use her mouth," Christian cut in, "and, if you've read the books, you know she's pretty good with her mouth. She tried and tried until her jaw hurt, but it was no use. So we called in my mother. She also used her hands and her mouth, but nothing worked."
"Wait a minute," the doctor interrupted. "You mean your mother tried, too?"
"That's right," Christian said. "Between the three of us, we just couldn't get the lid off that damn specimen cup."