The Forb is Troubled About Circumcision

Winnie and I met on the sidewalk outside of The End of Time this morning. She looked very nice and I assumed that she would be heading off to her new job after breakfast—a job I still knew nothing about. I would have inquired this morning, had things not taken the turn that they did.

As we entered the café together we were spotted by The Forb, who was absorbed in a newspaper article while Limerick Bill sat across from him, scribbling on a piece of paper.

“Max. Winnie. You have to come over here. This is important.” Both he and Limerick Bill scooted over to make room for us. Winnie wisely chose to sit by The Forb.

“Listen to this,” he said. “This guy in San Francisco is fighting to make circumcision illegal, at least until the age of 18. Jews and Muslims are mad about this, since chopping off the end of a man-child’s whoosit is apparently important to God. What’s the deal, Max? Why does anybody even care? Are you circumcised?”

“I’m not,” said Bill. “No one’s gonna give my equipment a haircut.”

Winnie looked over at me, horrified that I might actually respond to The Forb’s inquiry. I was sure that she would not remain in the room if the conversation continued on this trajectory.

“I think there are people,” I said, “who see circumcision as mutilation, and the babies who have it done don’t have any say in the matter. On the other hand, it’s been a religious tradition for Jews and Muslims for a pretty long time.”

“The whole thing perplexes me,” said The Forb. “My business was trimmed when I was just a sprout, and I can’t say it’s negatively impacted my above-average mating habits. And if God thinks it’s okay, then it’s okay with me. This hotel guy probably has a fetish about foreskins.”

“What do they do with them,” asked Bill, looking up from his literary work.

“With what?” said The Forb.

“The foreskins,” said Bill. “When they cut them off. Do they just toss them down the garbage disposal? Seems like a waste. You could probably squash them together, dry them out, and make window coverings or lamp shades or something.”

“I’m getting sick to my stomach,” said Winnie. “I have to go to my new job, and now I’m going to throw up.” She got up and left the café.

“Thanks a lot, guys,” I said. “Now you’ve upset Winnie again.”

“I’ll bet they look like little rubber bands when they do it to babies,” said Bill.

“Drop it, Bill,” said The Forb. “We’ve offended Winnie with our foreskin talk. Woman can be so queasy about things that are just natural.”

“Since when is slicing off the end of someone’s willy ‘natural’?” said Bill. “If they did it to you now, you wouldn’t be so happy.”

“I once had a nail pulled out of my foot with a pair of pliers when I was a kid,” said The Forb. “I could handle the amputation of a foreskin. I’d even give it to you, Bill, so you could make something out of it.”

“Probably couldn’t make much out of your measley piece of flesh.”

“I have some reading to do,” I said. “You guys can solve the circumcision issue.”

I went to my regular booth to sulk. I was hoping to ask Winnie about her new job and to show her I was interested in her life. Now all she would think about when she saw me again would be the evidence of surgical interference with my plumbing.

Winnie is probably glad she was born a woman.