Long before the divorce papers have been filed, both parties know the marriage is over. Such is the relationship I enjoy with my prostate.
We used to be better friends, displayed a far greater level of affection. No one’s been more accommodating, no one as nice. But I suppose age has a way of changing things, of setting the record straight. So no drawn out apologies, no sad goodbyes. My prostate won’t be living here anymore, and my patience is wearing thin. I’ve enough to be comfortable. It seems all I need now is the house to myself.
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