The definition of awkward - two urology stories

Yesterday I had to take Jack to the dermatologist for his final wart treatment. The dermatology unit in the hospital shares its waiting room with the urology department. It was only after we sat down that I noticed the husband of a friend of mine in one of the seats closest to us, sitting with his legs crossed and one hand between his legs looking sheepish. This is the definition of awkward in my book.

I decided not to share why Jack and I were there, leaving open the possibility that we were there for a urological appointment for Jack as well - just to make him feel more comfortable. I don't think it worked, really. There was a lot of comparing stories on the children. I was so happy when he got called away, I sighed with relief. In the course of the rest of the morning, we ran into him another three times in the hospital, once with a sample pot and once coming back from a scan. By the third time, I just pretended not to see him. There's only so many ways you can wave hello cheerfully, pretending not to see the huge pink elephant in the hospital atrium.

When I saw his wife at the school gates later, I feigned surprise at all the stories I'd already heard about her children. Anything not to have to bring up the chance meeting with her husband earlier. Imagine if she didn't know he'd been there. No, I was staying away from that one and will be forevermore.

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I have a good reason to feel so on edge about that chance meeting: I have an older catastrophic urology-related story I will share with you. It was one that nearly finished a whole friendship.

I had a very very good friend at secondary school in Edinburgh - let's call him Murray - who also went to university at Cambridge with me. For years, we'd see each other all the time and share our stories. Then I moved back to Scotland and then back to Belgium, but we kept in touch.

One day when he was living in London, training to be a doctor, I travelled there to see the Oxford-Cambridge boat race. (Not really - I just went to meet up with some friends, the boat race being our excuse to get together.) I'd arranged to meet Murray and his brand new girlfriend in a pub. This pub was loud and very full so it was impossible to hear anything.

Murray had just got back from Australia where he'd been on some kind of special training program specialising in what I heard as "neurology" but which was actually "urology." Easy mistake to make, right? I proceeded to ask him - in front of his girlfriend - a serious of admiring questions, like

• Wow, you really got to poke around in there?
• You just open it all up and get to have a look around?
• Aren't you scared of touching the wrong thing?
• Was that really exciting to you?
• Isn't that the coolest part of medicine?

and so on and so forth. His puzzled responses did make me wonder, but I thought he was just being modest. His girlfriend went scarlet, thinking I was some oversexed girlfriend trying to come onto him by being cute about mens bits. She did NOT believe me when I finally realised my mistake and swore I was talking about BRAINS, not PENISES.

The girlfriend never warmed to me after that, and I have a sneaking suspicion she told him not to have anything more to do with me. Now the wife is the ex, and Murray and I are back in touch. Still, I'd have been quite happy to sacrifice our friendship, if it meant he could have had his happy ever after.

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I promise - no more penis-related stories tomorrow. I realise there is such a thing as enough penis.