Censored - My Balls

Exposed Balls

I suppose it’s time to share the story of how I sat at the busiest Starbucks in Fort Myers, Florida for more than an hour with my balls completely exposed.

It’s embarrassing and horrifying, but my kids (and my deviant friends like Brian McLeod) think the story is hysterical and have been begging me to share it.

So here goes.

WARNING: To properly tell the tale requires a little back story, so bear with me. Or skip down a couple paragraphs if you’re just interested in hearing about my balls.


So, it’s the week of standardized testing.

I never get worked up about that sort of thing, because my kids are smart…

And if they ever get held back or flunk out or whatever, I’ll just say fuck it and homeschool them.

But Wendy is a bit more traditional when it comes to school, so she’s stressed.

And the kids are stressed.

Anyways, I wake my daughter Rowan up early that morning, and get her out of the house for a walk.

Then we take showers, get dressed, and head out the door for breakfast.

We have a long, relaxing breakfast. We talk and laugh and by the time I drop her off for school, she’s happy and centered and ready for testing.

And of course, I feel like the man.

Best dad on the planet, right?

I head over the bridge into Fort Myers for a care plan meeting at my mothers nursing home. I’m dressed to the nines in a polo shirt and a nice pair of new golf shorts that Wendy bought me.

I’m feeling like the MAN.

But I realize I’m an hour early. I’ve got the mobile office (my MacBook and iPhone) with me, so I stop into Starbucks to work for an hour.


The Starbucks in mid-Fort Myers has two glass walls with tables lining both walls. The table in the corner allows you to sit with your back to an actual hunk of wall, but you’re in a corner and have glass walls down each side.

It looks like the image attached to this post.

I order an iced coffee and the corner spot is open, so I sit down, throw on my headphones, pop my laptop open, and start working.

An hour goes by. I’m facing the room, but oblivious to the steady stream of people ordering, sliding around the bend, grabbing their drinks, and leaving.

I’m jamming away, listening to The Cure and crushing through my inbox.

Then I “feel” someone looking at me.

Ever get that feeling? That tingle in the senses? So yeah, I get that feeling…

I look around, and directly in front of me about 20 feet away, there’s a couple of guys sitting at a table.

Both around my age, both staring at me.

Do they know me?

They don’t look familiar…

Are they just people watching?

No, they’re definitely looking at me…

Are they jealous of the handsome, middle-aged entrepreneur who is beholden to no office or man…

Who is the master of his own destiny, rocking out at Starbucks at 10:30am on a random Tuesday?

Nope. They’re laughing and whispering to each other, so that can’t be it either.

So why are they laughing at me?

I must know these guys, right?

Time to find out… One of the guys, still chuckling, gets up and walks over.

He pulls up a chair and sits down. He leans in.

“Hey man,” I say.

I’m completely lost. “What’s up?”

He pauses, then says:

“Look… I have to tell you… Bro to bro… Your shorts are blown, and your junk is like, hanging out.”

I just stare at him, trying to process what he’s saying.

“For real, dude.” He says, and nods downwards.

I feel like I’ve been shot. I can’t move.

My arm finally decides to work, and I slowly reach down between my legs, with my eyes still locked on my new friend.

Sure enough: it’s like a grenade went off in my shorts.

Nothing but sack.

So I jerk my hand back like it’s been bitten by a snake, and I clamp my legs together.

“I had to tell you, man” he says. He claps me on the back, says “Sorry bro” and walks back to his friend.

They’re both laughing.


So I sit there petrified for like 5 minutes, with my legs clamped shut, just staring straight ahead.

Then I pack my laptop up and, holding it in front of me for protection, I duck walked out of the Starbucks.

Once I was safely in my JEEP I examined what remained of my new shorts.

Yep – ripped up and down each seam, a total loss.

How long was it like that? And even more importantly, how did I not notice?

The world will never know.