"Kjell" is pronounced "Shell," like in "sea-shell."

My doc­tor sprung a prostate exam on me today.

“It is com­pletely optional,” she said, her eyes glazed with mani­a­cal glee as she snapped the exam gloves in place.

Like a deer in the head­lights, I mus­tered a shaky smile. “Let’s save that until next time I see you,” my lips said while my brain said, Hasta la vista, baby. You’ll never take me alive!

“We highly rec­om­mend it. Look,” she said, wig­gling her right index fin­ger in my face. “It’s bet­ter to have a female do it; we have smaller fingers.”

“But aren’t you sup­posed to be over 50 before you have to do this sh… stuff?” I pleaded with her with my biggest puppy-dog eyes.

“No, that’s the colonoscopy.

Colonoscopy?!

“We do the prostate exam over age 40,” she con­tin­ued while absent-mindedly lub­ing up her glove-clad fin­ger. Obvi­ously she was con­fi­dent in get­ting her way with me.

Optional, my, uh, ass…

“But, but, but…”

“It’ll be over in a sec­ond. Pull down your pants and bend over the exam table.”

I reluc­tantly com­plied. Bent over, I looked back at her with a ner­vous grin. “Aren’t you going to take me to din­ner first?”

“Doesn’t work that way,” I think she responded. I can’t be sure, though, because I was busy squeal­ing like a lit­tle girl.

Sigh. When I woke up this morn­ing, hav­ing a fin­ger up my busi­ness was most def­i­nitely not on my to-do list…

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