As I've mentioned before, my first ex husband was a generally unlikeable guy. A great actor, he was able to play me for a fool until the papers were signed - then my case of extreme buyer's remorse got to last me for the next five years of hell.
My parents did not like him, not one tiny bit, but they were determined to let me (like they'd let my sister before me) make my own mistakes in love. I know that was the right thing, but there are times I wish my father had stayed true to his vow in my childhood, namely to buy a bulldog named Spike and spend the entirety of my adolescence and young adulthood on the porch with his shotgun.
Loser #1 (as I not so affectionately refer to my first ex husband) was a condescending, smarmy prig. He had decided many years before that he hated children (unless he needed to act like he liked them for 'politics'), and told me in no uncertain terms that I was never to get pregnant. Much to his chagrin it was cheaper and easier for him to get snipped (he would have much rather I had my tubes tied, but almost 20 years ago the difference in the two procedures was vast). My father, ever the gentleman, offered to pay for the procedure, since we didn't have insurance. Offered, mind you - not agreed to. Dad thought of it, suggested it, and followed through with a check.
On the day before the procedure my beloved father called. I might not have mentioned thus far in any of my articles regarding him, but my father was blind. He had contracted a disease in his time in the Navy which began to eat away at the retina of his eyes, leaving him with approximately 10 percent of his vision, all peripheral. If you've ever put your hands an inch in front of your eyes, looked straight ahead and then tried to rely on your peripheral vision for everything, well, you know how hard it can be. I've tried it many times, just to empathize.
On the phone Daddy said to me "So, does Loser #1 have to do his preoperative care himself?" My father had a vasectomy when I was little, so he was familiar with the procedure. I glanced at the paperwork we'd been given, and noted that "preoperative care" meant "shaving his pubic region" and yes, Loser #1 indeed needed to do that at home by himself. Loser #1 at the moment was sitting near me. My father then said "Tell him that to help him out I'll come up and do it for him." I passed this generous offer on to my then husband and he demurred. I told my father that his offer was declined, to which he replied "What? I don't understand why on earth he wouldn't want a blind man with a straight razor near his privates."
For years my father regretted that Loser #1 didn't take him up on that offer.
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