We finally received a referral back from the National Health System telling us we would now be allowed to speak to a specialist who understood the procedures and forms necessary to
take a scalpel to Squirmy's man-parts. Gleeful that I finally found someone who could help us continue this apparently barbaric tradition we Americans (mostly) follow. So I called the number and provided our name, and they agreed that yes, we could bring The Boy in to see a consultant in a couple of weeks. At which time, he could then schedule us for a procedure.
Me: Um, wait. Why can't he be scheduled for the procedure now?
NHS: Well, you see, the consultant needs to do a
consultation first. To see The Boy.
Me: Seriously? I can assure you that he's got pretty much all the standard Boy Parts. Do you think you're going to find something different?
NHS: Yes, but that's our procedure. And the consultant likes to schedule the actual procedures in blocks, so that he can get through them all
en masse.
Me: Really? Does he require you
bring him a cigar and hold it down yourself?
NHS: Excuse me?
Me: Never mind.
