Let's put aside the minor matter of me being incapable of getting an Irish Catholic woman pregnant, which, frankly, in itself has GOT to be some kind of 'first' in medical science.
Let's put aside the fact that 1 week from now I have to repeat the entire self abuse and humiliation adventure all over again.
Let's put aside that my very manhood is brought into question by my previous experience.
Let's focus on another aspect of my ever deteriorating existence that will serve to chip away at the remaining fragments of respect, self or otherwise, that I possess.
I am already at somewhat of a physical disadvantage in life, I'm 'horizontally challenged'.
At 5 feet 6inches, I am a short arse. By Irish standards I am freakishly small, by Dutch standards I could be bloody Frodo.
As with most of life challenges, I get on with it, "what doesn't kill you..." and all that shite, but, as I wait for that growth spurt that I should have received as a teenager, I've been granted the joy of another teenage rite of passage. BRACES.
Twenty four hours from now, I, at 30 years, 5 months and 27 days of age, will have a feckin brace fitted to my upper rack.
Aside from pain, which I had made an agreement with Satan about many moons ago (he was gonna get to keep my first born child or something, I forget the details), I am going to look to look like a prize donkey. A gimp of the highest order.
How can I hand over the next 'shameful sample' while all red faced and shiny braced?
How can I get Spencer to take my instruction seriously when there's spittle flying everywhere as I bellow "I believe I can fly" in his general direction ?
How can I control unwanted saliva from dripping onto ET's sudoku puzzles when we are in our upcoming throws of passion on our quest to infinity and beyond ?
How can I eat a Cadbury's creme egg?
I need a lie down....