The Mother Of All Backfires -- Or -- Don't Read This One Mom

A couple weeks back New Jan came to Corby's with us, and I told her I'd lost both of my testicles in a gardening accident. I don't recall why. Also, speaking of Jan, here's a tailgate picture she just sent of her, me, and Lizett:

Adorable, hmmmm? Except that hat makes me look bald. I look like freaking Lex Luthor.

Anyway, this somehow evolved into a long and glorious yarn of the loss itself, the hilarious sitcom-style recovery, the inspiring Notre Dame community outreach after Ball leaked it to The Observer, the eventual purchase and installation of neuticles, and the subsequent reattainment of my Groove. I know, it sounds horrible and unfunny. Right you are.

The point of this totally awesome story is, I guess we were too convincing...and too loud. We hadn't realized Mary was even listening, or that she apparently believed our rather insane hypothetical, and certainly not that she would go around for the next couple weeks telling all her friends and coworkers about her BFF Steve who tragically lost his boys to a garden hoe. Which she did.

Eventually I'm going to run into some of these people. So what do I do? I can't just introduce myself like "Hey I'm Steve, and I totally have all my man parts." My options are to live with the pity in their eyes, or stop going to bars. Seems like a good new TV season.