In his play Julius Caesar, William Shakespeare calls the fatal wound dealt to Caesar by his friend, Brutus, “the unkindest cut.” It’s obvious to me, and probably to lots of other men, that old Bill never had a vasectomy.

When I was young and single, I had a foolproof method of contraception – my personality. But now, 18 years of marriage and a wife who wanted off “The Pill” were making me look at some other options.

For my wife and I, the best bet was a vasectomy. We explored all the other options and found them lacking in one respect or another. Some took too much planning, others weren’t reliable enough, and a couple verged on kinky.

So, vasectomy it was, then.

Having run out of excuses to put it off, I made an appointment. Soon – too soon, in fact – I found myself half-naked, flat on my back with my legs in the air. Plus, I had an audience. Not being Paris Hilton, I found this a bit unnerving.

As the doctor prepared to do the deed, I was more than a little nervous, and when I get nervous I have a bad habit of making jokes. Now, however, my temptation to crack wise was tempered by the fact that the doctor – invisible to me except for the top of his head – was armed with a scalpel. One laughter-induced lurch would be all it would take to turn a flippant “just a little off the top,” from mere japery to ugly reality. And I don’t even want to think about “short back and sides.”

After the procedure was over the doctor brought my wife in and explained to us the post-op care: for the next 72 hours, I was to spend lots of time on the sofa, lift nothing heavier than a beer or a remote, and use lots of ice to keep swelling to a minimum. My wife pointed out that, apart from the ice, the doctor had pretty much described my every weekend for the past two decades.

The final act in this play was making sure the procedure was successful; to do this, the doctor needed to examine a specimen. But before I could submit a specimen, I had to “flush the pipes” at least 20 times. I told him that, at my age, he might be retired by the time that happened (the doctor was no longer armed, so I felt safe being a wise-acre once again). But, I did as instructed and today I’m just like the gunfighters you see on television.

They’re shooting blanks, too.