Men’s Complaints

June 24th 2006


When God gave women pre-menstrual tension and other ‘women’s complaints’ he certainly redressed the balance by giving men the prostate gland. I can just see Him now, up in heaven, working it out. “Let’s see now, menstruation, PMT, sore nipples, hysterectomies, cellulite, labour pains, post-natal depression, over-sized breasts, under-sized breasts, I shall need something very nasty indeed with which to lumber man to make up for that little lot…….I know, I’ll give him a prostate gland!”

I suffer with God’s gift of the prostate gland as much as anyone. Women may scoff at the very idea but I’d gladly swap my prostate problem for a monthly period and a bout of pre-menstrual tension any time, and you could throw in sore nipples, a session of post-natal depression and a couple of yards of cellulite too. Ten times I had to get out of bed to go to the bathroom last night. And that’s nothing out of the ordinary, that’s the norm. An average night’s peeing.

I wouldn’t mind so much if I had a proper pee when I got there but I only pee about an egg cupful. Then fifty minutes or so later I’m back again, peeing another egg cupful. And on and on throughout the night, releasing my urine bit by bit, like a measure of whisky being released through an optic into a glass, and about the same volume, with not even a double now and then to give me a little more shuteye before the next time I have to get up to eke out another egg cupful.

And of course when I get out of bed to go to the lavatory I’m not allowed to put on the bedroom light in case I should disturb The Trouble from her slumbers, so for my pains I often get a stubbed toe as I try to negotiate my way in the dark, which of course adds to my pains.

A bottle of wine is my saviour. If I have the benefit of a bottle of wine inside me before I go to bed it has the effect of drugging me until about three-o-clock in the morning, so I don’t start peeing until then. But that only applies on the rare occasions I happen to be sleeping alone. For most of the time I sleep with The Trouble and apparently, or so she claims, whenever I have a bottle of wine before going to bed I snore, and when I do snore The Trouble pummels me into wakefulness in order to stop me, and once I’m awake I have to go for a pee. Even so I get a lot more sleep as evidently it takes a lot of pummelling to wake me up after I’ve had a bottle of wine. Not enough though.

One might think that the answer to the problem would be for me to sleep in another bedroom, which would allow The Trouble her full quota of beauty sleep, whereas I, drugged by a bottle of wine, would not have to start my nocturnal treks to the bathroom until about three in the morning. Not so. We tried this, me sleeping in the spare bedroom, but apparently my snoring is of such a loud volume it can be heard even from there, and The Trouble not only had to pummel me to stop me snoring but had to get out of bed and make her way to the spare bedroom in order to do the pummelling.

A long time ago we reached a compromise. I have a bottle of wine every other night. This means that every other night one of us gets a reasonable night’s sleep. On such compromises are happy marriages made.