Guilt By Association

Ron Nagasawa
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Wednesday - September 16, 2009
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I recently celebrated my 51st birthday. Perhaps celebrated isn’t exactly the right word. Allowed passage of my birthday is probably a better way to put it. But given the medical problems I experienced earlier this year, I’m thankful that I was able to blow out candles on a cake.

I guess I’m now on the second half of my life - provided I live to be 100. I’m actually taking it pretty good, versus my wife, who also just had another birthday. If you know her or have seen her picture, she looks years younger than her age - not according to her, but she’s her worst critic.

I’m lucky to be married to an attractive woman, but no amount of sweet talk can seem to convince her of this. She says she feels like she’s getting old merely because of something her doctor said. She was told to get a colonoscopy. Now I’ve been through two already so I didn’t see the problem.


She said it’s because I’m a man and I don’t understand. She was right because I certainly don’t understand about 90 percent of what women worry about. I decided I would coddle her and take her through this as gently as possible.

That wasn’t going to be easy, as anyone who had one of these knows, the preparation is 100 times worse than the procedure. I decided to take the day off from work so that I could totally be there for her. The problems started with the 24-hour fast.

To show solidarity, I decided to fast with her. That was good for about two hours, after which I snuck some food and tried to eat it in secret. My wife’s radar must have been super sharp, because she caught me and gave me the guilt trip all night. In the morning, I drove her to the clinic.

The waiting room was full of people, and as she went in for the procedure, I told her I would sit there close by. I spotted a vinyl-covered chair and planted myself in it. As I looked around, I could tell by the look on people’s faces that they had spend most of their last 12 hours in close proximity of a bathroom.

I was wearing a $9.99 pair of vinyl sneakers I had bought from the now-defunct Dave and Barry’s. In crossing my legs, my shoe dragged across the vinyl chair emitting what sounded like the loudest emission of flatulence you ever heard. The elderly woman sitting next to me said, “You better go in next.”

Ron’s WEBSITE of the week


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