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07-Jan-2020 14:43

It often occurred to me to go to a doctor, but by the time I would get off the toilet, the urgency had subsided. I was dating at the time, and because there was no chance in hell that I was going to explain to my dates what was going on, I would surreptitiously remove the paper seconds before sex. I found a colorectal surgeon, a Jew (which is how I pick my doctors in a city that has too many) named Stephen Brandeis. I go to the check-in area and have a half-hour argument with the woman behind the desk about whether I have a referral. We know what you’ve been through.”I finally make it to the waiting room. I started sleeping with folded-up toilet paper against my butthole. I had to go to a colorectal surgeon, and I had to go now. There is a downstairs check-in area and an upstairs waiting room.

‘Life is too short to miss opportunities and I believe in living each day to its fullest.

But intellectual development increases our capacity for pain, and material progress suppresses spiritual values.

Hence ultimate happiness is not attainable in this world, in heaven, or by endless progress towards an earthly paradise.

But what I mistook for a smile was actually a grimace. But then Anton hugged me, heat and sweat rising from his torso, his arms wrapped around me in a promise of eternal protection, inhaling me in that way men do to show they’re grateful that you’re safe.

And in that strange and romantic moment I thought, “One day I’m going to put this in a story to explain my convoluted relationship with Russian men.”I should preface this story by saying that I am Russian.

‘Life is too short to miss opportunities and I believe in living each day to its fullest.But intellectual development increases our capacity for pain, and material progress suppresses spiritual values.Hence ultimate happiness is not attainable in this world, in heaven, or by endless progress towards an earthly paradise.But what I mistook for a smile was actually a grimace. But then Anton hugged me, heat and sweat rising from his torso, his arms wrapped around me in a promise of eternal protection, inhaling me in that way men do to show they’re grateful that you’re safe.And in that strange and romantic moment I thought, “One day I’m going to put this in a story to explain my convoluted relationship with Russian men.”I should preface this story by saying that I am Russian. After all, I have always taken my time on the toilet. In the waiting room for a colorectal surgeon, that remains the case. Apparently my self-diagnosis was absolutely correct. This news strengthens my hypothesis that I am right about 95 percent of the time.♦◊♦We go into the actual room where the magic happens.