It was a bright, sunny prepubescent day at the crowded public swimming pool. Both my testicles were neatly packed in Speedo.
As were the testicles of all my prepubescent mates, as we gathered on the lawn and spread out our towels.
It was a scorcher. We dove in the pool. We swam for ages. And as soon as we climbed out, it was time for the paddle-pop run. My turn.
I took my testicles straight to the long, winding ice-cream queue. Some 30 minutes later, I wove my way through the seething hoards and returned to the towels with the treasure.
But rather than the big thank you I was expecting, I met with a different reaction entirely. Hysteria.
Howling. Weeping. Collapsing. Pointing. Pointing at my left testicle.
The one that had managed to escape my Speedo all those many minutes and witnesses ago.
There it was, gleaming naked in the sun. Young, innocent, exposed. Devoid of hair. The laughter lasted an hour.
I’ve been a boardies man ever since.
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