Sometimes the conversations among the cigar smokers in the lounge leave a lot to be desired. Today, however, they did not discuss politics. Instead, home remodeling. Followed by colonoscopies. No, I do not know how the conversation segued into that! But no doubt there is a link, and they are of an age when all of them have experienced such a thing. Unlike childbirth, there are probably no home movies -- though I would not be a bit surprised if videos get circulated among medical professionals with "would ya look at that" commentary appended -- and I shan't hunt around on youtube for any examples.
After that they talked about food. Quite naturally, because the man among them with the most colonoscopy experiences under his belt is an avid gourmand, albeit old school in his tastes. Steaks. Corned beef on rye.
Beef Wellington. Chicken Kiev.
Besides, he had just finished eating.
For the life of me, I cannot have conversations about colonoscopies. Consider it a social limitation. I don't make friends easily.
How the heck does one go from new kitchens to full rectal in two minutes? When I left for a moment they were all about butcher block and sheetrock, when I came back they had a probe and drugs going.
One of them described it in glowing terms, as the drugs they gave him were wonderful.
I suspect that Valium must have been part of the cocktail.
He's normally a little tightly clenched.
"Here, dude, just relax."
They are fully up to speed medically. All tested and examined. Nothing found wanting. And, judging by their conversation, well equipped with colons.
I was not part of this round table. I seldom discuss anything at all with those gentlemen, because I often cannot keep up with them, though I am quite familiar with steaks, corned beef on rye, beef Wellington, and Chicken Kiev. As well as the cigars that they smoke. Tom, who hails from some place in the MidWest, was also subdued; I doubt that certain medical matters are part of his small talk either.
He's too gentle and reserved for that.
He's just there for the company.
Neither Tom nor I customarily insert recta into our chit chat.
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