Honestly, My Mind Goes Blank

I'm so glad I don't have testicles.

Ok, let me go back.

My James is a stunt man and fight choreographer.  For a living, he gets thrown around and beaten up.  And he is fantastic, and I am not just saying that because of my intimate relationship with him.  Honestly, if he was shit, I'd tell you.  But he's amazing.   

Here, look how awesome he is.  He's the one who lives at the end.

The reason I bring up his line of work is simple.  At home, he likes to work out the fights/stunts he does before he actually goes through with them.  Not full out, mind you, but walk through them at least.  For that, he uses me.  Now, I have done my share of martial arts and gymnastics and yoga, so I am not completely useless as a partner for this stuff.  However, I do have a problem with not making contact.  With the hitting and kicking and stuff.

So today we were working on some fight stuff, and I just might have nailed him right in the gonads.  

The way he described the pain was, "I feel like I am going to throw up my balls."

Needless to say, I laughed really hard at the time, but I felt bad afterward.

But that got me thinking how lucky I am to be female.  Now, we do have our share of SNAFUs, what with the menstruation, childbirth, and cancers of our various reproductive organs.  But at least we don't have to deal with all that stuff swinging around down there.  Seriously, it looks like whoever designed the male reproductive situation wasn't even paying attention.  

And I'm glad we don't have the urge to name our genitalia.  I think men name their penises because they need to feel more important.  See, we don't need to do that.  We create LIFE, we have the ability to grow another human being inside of us - that funnily enough fulfills the definition as a parasite feeding on a host.  But regardless, why would we need to name that anything?  

. . . . .

I'd probably just come up with something crappy anyway.