My companion was directed to the working room by the medical

history channel documentary My companion was directed to the working room by the medical attendant. He was advised to strip from the waist and set down. She would return in a moment, she let him know. My companion raised his eyebrows. Where were you when I was single, he thought. (Give me a chance to elucidate for any individual who is prepared this, including my significant other. I wouldn't have felt that by any means, yet my companion potentially may have. In any case, I don't realize that without a doubt.)

My companion obediently took after the attendant's guidelines. Minutes after the fact she came back with shaving cream and a razor, a long, sharp, sparkling in-the-light, straight edged razor. Instantly the sweat began beading up on his lip. "I lean toward an electric razor, if its all the same to you," he said to the medical attendant. The medical caretaker scowled at him, gradually shook her head from side to side, and grinned malignantly. She continued.

In a matter of minutes my companion was as exposed as an infant in "THAT AREA." That part over, he was soothed. "It presumably won't deteriorate than that," he suspected, consoling himself. At that point the specialist came into the room. He grabbed a surgical blade and a hypodermic needle. The scene moved into moderate movement. He moved toward my companion. "Would it be conceivable to simply give up a couple of appendages to a fruitfulness god, and get the same results?" my companion stammered. The specialist grinned ghoulishly. "So to speak that is what's going on with going to be." He chuckled. Lightning flashed through the window. "AHHHHHHHHHHHH!" my companion commented. The specialist proceeded with his works. "This may hurt a tad bit," he said as he drew his needle, making the modest representation of the truth of the century, in that puckish way all specialists appear to have.