Hossmom asked me the other day if I really get hit in the balls as much as I say in my writing. This shocked me of course as she is the perpetrator at least 33% of the time. Little Hoss and Bubba Hoss get me 66% of the time. And the last 1% is due to my own stupidity, like when you sit down to fast and you aren't adjusted right and smash. There's not a guy out there that hasn't done that one before.
She seemed to be implying that I'm using said junk crushing as a cheap joke and that perhaps I am exaggerating. It also seemed to me that she was also telling me that it was time to let the joke go.
But let me assure everyone that getting hit in the coin purse is not a joking matter. I am happy that people read my little site when there is so much more porn around on the internet. And I am happy that some think that I can tell a good story from time to time. However, when I put in statements like "I got hit in the balls" it's not to elicit a laugh. It's not a humorous statement. It's to illustrate a point. The point, of course, is that I got hit in the balls.
Hossmom feels that there is no way that a person can get hit in the crotch that much. She maintains that she doesn't get hit in the crotch that much.
I would not disagree with her on some points of that argument. She does not get hit, kicked or kneed in the groin because universal karma does not allow it. There is nothing there. There is no karmic gravitational field drawing objects or body parts violently toward that sacred guy region. Therefore, she does not have the same experience that I have.
Every guy knows, and every father knows more, that the sack region draws punches and thrown objects better than a blackhole draws light. It just happens. There is no scientific reason for this. It is one of the mysteries of the universe. Why did the dinosaurs die out? What makes up a soul? Why do father's get hit in the groin so much? Why do wives not get this?
Go ahead, type in "groin hit" into Google. See how many video's come up. And how many of those video's are of women? I would bet none. It will all be guys doing what guys do. They may be throwing the football around or showing their child how to play baseball. They may be walking down the street minding their own business when out of no where a random frisbie thrown in England transverses the great ocean, catches a train in New York, rents a car in Indiana, pays a toll on the freeway, gets some ice cream and hits some random schmuck in the junk waiting at the bus stop with his daughter.
Every father knows this to be true. Little kids don't get that this area is a major father hurt zone. How can they? As father's we have to appear invincible, tough as nails and able to take any pain. We must do this because when they get their first stitches or their first broken arm, that they can look at dad and draw inspiration. I'm as tough as dad and I'll be ok. It's what we pass down to them. And perhaps we do this by taking repeated injury to the coconuts.
Hossmom still doesn't believe me.
Last night we were in bed sleeping. We woke up at midnight and talked for just a bit. The nice barely awake kind of talking. It was cold and we were snuggled up. I gave her a big body hug to let her know that she was safe and secure, hoping that this would help her get back to sleep. Her back was to me.
She chose that moment to curl up, bringing her knees up and trailing her little feet behind. The back of that same foot trailed up my leg and the back of the heel, the hard bony part, smacked me right in the junk.
I screamed and doubled over. Snuggle time was over. She caught me full on while I was almost asleep. They were just hanging there, safe and happy. Then she crushed them like a shoeless wine maker. Whamo. I thought I heard them scream.
"Sorry" she said in a muffled voice. I of course couldn't respond at all as I was gasping for air and praying to every god in the known universe to strike me dead to take away the pain.
Death, taxes and the groin gravitational pull. These are the three constants in life. None are funny when they happen to you.