What a tossa!

When you are lying flat out on your back, with your underpants around your kneecaps and John Thomas languidly lying there, and a young lady with sexily slim glasses and long, dark flowing hair, says “Tosa,” to you, you can’t always be sure whether she’s giving you an insult or spurring you on to action. Fortunately, in this case I could, because the dark haired young lady was a Spanish doctor, and she was telling me to cough, as she gently strobed a bit of medical equipment over my family jewels to see if I had a hernia. I didn’t, but the cold gel she put over the head, (the equipment’s, not mine) certainly made my shy little parts jump a bit.

It’s a man thing, but we’re always a bit nervous when the person examining our naughty bits is a svelte young thing and not some hulking brute with tobacco stained teeth and hairy nostrils. We lie there hoping one of two things; a. that we’re not suddenly going to get an unexpected – and in this case, unwanted – rise, and b., infinitely more embarrassing, that little jonnie hasn’t hibernated totally and will at least be showing himself in some sort of semi-manly condition.

When I’m told to drop my underpants and hold my pene straight up so that she can have clear access to my testiculos, at first I think she means hold it up in the air, i.e. at 90º to the body (I’m lying down, remember), but before I embarrass myself I realise she means straight up my body. This gives me the chance to do what all self-respecting chaps would do, and that is carefully cover it with my hand so that no comparisons can be made with the chap who came earlier. (Non self-respecting chaps would simply flop it on their belly and put their hands behind their heads, as if to say, “So what do you think of that, sweatheart!” The answer would be, “Nothing.” They’ve seen plenty of pricks in their life and you and your manhood are just two more.)

I don’t know if it’s a shortage of specialisations, but in my experience anything to do with ears, nose and throat is dealt with by a male doctor, whereas anything below the belt line is handled (not physically, obviously) by a female. It was the same when I had my vasectomy. The doc that did the snip, the one that anesthetised the poor little chap and the two attending nurses were all ladies – and I mean that in all its senses. Terribly polite, they were, making all sorts gentle conversation that avoided totally any reference to the parts under inspection. It was also a woman doctor who I made laugh when she gave me the result of my sperm test a few months later. “Everything’s fine,” she told me, “your results are negative.” “Thank you, doctor,” I said. “That’s the first time in my life I’ve had zero result in a test and been happy about it.”

If you would like to know more about Spain, visit my web site, www.derekworkman-journalist.com , and Spain Uncovered

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