Orbs of love weren’t part of the bargain

As much fun as we know male genitalia can be, it really isn’t all that much to look at.

It… As much fun as we know male genitalia can be, it really isn’t all that much to look at.

It can be sort of funny to gaze upon a pair of wrinkly skin-eggs and think how much control those two little globs actually exert upon their owner.

If you’re not careful with these observations, they can really bruise some egos and spoil some moments.

Usually, though, it’s not an issue. If you own a pair of testicles yourself, you’re used to the way they look. And if you aren’t the proud owner of your own set, you typically only encounter them in situations where the aesthetics of the equipment are the least of your concerns. Regardless of all this, we live in a society where we only see nuts when we want to.

Not so in the wide world of animals. Those suckers just run around naked all the time, indecent exposure laws be damned. They’re into lettin’ it all hang out.

Especially rodents.

In rodent-land, the fellas just don’t give a damn. The less-than-appetizing aspects of their orbs of love take on elephantine proportions. Literally. The testicle-to-cranium size ratio on most rodents is an even one.

This similarity always seemed to be a revealing insight into the personalities of dude rodents, and beasties in general. This is why every animal ever to live with my family has been female.

Eventually, I left home for school and needed a companion of my own. That’s when the legendary Zelda came into my life.

Tiny rat Z and I had a damn good couple of years. She ate, drank and partied like royalty, and she was neat, clean and – thankfully – self-contained. True, the two of us lived with a human dude, but he usually kept his stones to himself around the house.

Usually.

Anyway, Zelda lived out her natural lifespan with me, and a few months ago, she died. It was sad, but she’d probably be rolling her eyes if she saw me moping and mooning. So a few weeks ago, I adopted this tiny little fuzzbucket of an infant rat – female, of course.

Of course.

The critter’s name, Paragraph, just sort of occurred to me, like most names I’ve given animals over the years. But Paragraph’s no name for a little rat princess, so a friend suggested Lola. You know, like the Kinks’ song about the transvestite.As a compromise, I called her Miss Lola Paragraph. Sort of has a drag queen ring to it, doesn’t it?

Funny I should’ve given her a drag-queen/transvestite name, because her cojones seemed to get a little bigger every day.

By the time the truth was unmistakably dragging along behind him, though, I’d fallen madly in love with Paragraph. It’s been odd coming to terms with his dude-hood.

He’s the man of the house, which I suppose is kind of cool. I can’t really make him take out the trash or get stuff from the top shelves, but he’s loads of fun.

Contrary to my long-held assumptions about anyone with family jewels that size, he doesn’t stink, nor is he territorial or mean. And no, he’s never once tried to hump my leg.

I’m getting to be so used to them, I almost don’t notice that swingin’ sack of his.

Okay, that’s a lie. They’re frickin’ huge.

But hey, love Paragraph, love his balls, gargantuan as they may be.

Melissa Meinzer is overjoyed to have a furry roommate again. Email her at mmeinzer@pittnews.com.