The Very Discreet Specimen (pt. 1)

The not getting pregnant thing started getting old around November/December of 08. We started looking into whether or not everything was functioning the way that it was supposed to be functioning, and to examine the options for pregnancy by some form of medical intervention.
When I say "we" in this case, I pretty much mean Kate.
Evidently, assuming all the external gear is in working order (it is), there's really only one sort of test that's necessary for men in this particular realm of health care.
Some time in early February Kate called me at work to tell me that I needed to provide a specimen to her Doctor. In order to make certain that all the internal gear is in working order.
She told me that it was all arranged, all I needed to do was to stop by her Ob-Gyn's office and pick up the specimen kit that would be waiting for me.
A Specimen Kit.
I was really really curious about exactly what a specimen kit for this particular sort of specimen might contain.
As it happened, I had time that day to walk over to the Doctor's office, it's only a few blocks away from my office.
The Ob-Gyn office is clearly a place intended for habitation by women and children. It has lots of child sized chairs an tables, politically correct wooden toys in bright colors, and the only magazines anywhere were Good Housekeeping, some professional woman's magazine, and Highlights. In about equal proportions.
Not a single other man anywhere on the floor, as far as I could tell.
So I go up to the librarianish looking woman in the lab coat behind counter and tell her that I'm Mark Nessel, my wife, Kate Washabaugh, is a patient here and evidently I'm supposed to pick up a specimen kit that's waiting for me.
You would think (or maybe you wouldn't, but I would) that in this day and age, in allegedly progressive downtown Madison WI, that not having the same last name as one's spouse wouldn't cause such confusion.
But it does.
We had to spend some time confirming that I'm not married to Kate Nessel, nor am I Mark Washabaugh. Thus, there would be no listing of a patient under the former, or specimen kit waiting for the later.
Once we had firmly established that, in spite of having the wrong last name, I am absolutely married to Kate Washabaugh, and am absolutely intending to pick up a specimen kit, there was no specimen kit waiting.
I am completely certain, by the way, that this lady knew all along that there was no specimen kit waiting for anyone, whatever their last name happened to be.
"No problem" she says "I'll just make one up for you."
Well, this should be intriguing. What the hell, I'm already halfway to being in a Judd Apatow movie here, let's see where this goes.
All in all, the specimen kit turned out to be a tremendous disappointment.
She scrambled around her little area, pulled out some stuff from various drawers, placed the stuff in a plain brown paper bag, and handed it to me.
From here on, everything in italics is whispered as quietly as possible.
Then she says "You should follow the instructions in there and bring the specimen back to us here."
Me: "The what?"
Her: "The specimen."
Me: "I'm sorry, I can't here what you're saying there, that last word."
I lean over the counter.
Her: "The specimen."
Me: "The specimen?"
She looks uncomfortable, and nods here head. "Yes, that. You should produce it at home. Bring it back to us. Since it's cold out, you'll probably want to keep it under your shirt inside your coat. Against your skin."

For the record, that's really not where I want to keep it.

"And I want you to know, we're very very discreet."
"You're what?"
I lean over again.
"We're very very discreet. You know, about your specimen."
"Oh. Well, look, I appreciate that, but it really isn't necessary."
Not the right thing to say. She got quite offended.
"Well most people consider it to be very important."
I look around, at the copies of Good Housekeeping, the politically correct wooden toys in bright colors, ect...
"Yeah, well um, you know, with all due respect... Isn't this whole thing kind of obvious? I mean, what else would I really be doing here by myself?"
Now she's really offended.
"Just make certain to follow the instructions carefully. And keep it warm."
I really really wanted to point out that a man of my age has no need of instructions for production of a specimen of this sort, regardless of the volume. I really really wanted to, but I didn't. With my luck they'd fire Kate as a patient, or tell her that it was medically inadvisable to have a baby with me. Or something.
So I took my as-yet-unexamined specimen kit in it's plain brown paper bag, and got the hell out of there.