Not A Gentleman's Cup Of Tea

What in the blazes?! No... NO! I refuse to take part in this preposterosity?! ACCESS DENIED!

I stomped into the lounge cursing and mumbling to myself like an imaginary detective hired by a world-class travel pro.

What is it? What has gotten into you this time?

The Good Lady flashed me one of her special frowns which usually meant she was either exceedingly exasperated with my antics or that her mimsy was thrashing around trying to bite her leg off.

This!

I shook an opened envelope at her with all the mannity I could muster then tossed it down contemptuously on the table.

What is it?

She said, craning her neck forward in a way that a Giraffe stealing knickers from a washing line would be proud of.

What is it?! What is it?!?! I will tell you what it bloody well is. It's a letter from the Scottish Health Agency. They want me to shit in a cup and send it to them? I mean, for fuck sake, have they no respect? Do they truly expect a man of my calibre to go around shitting in cups?

I sat down and harrumphed like a man who has been told to entertain the Queen by shitting in a succession of cups before setting them all on fire and juggling with them.

Oh that. That's the bowel screening thing they send out to old people, isn't it?

The Good Lady tittered at me pityingly.

I stepped back and glowered blackly at the woman who was once my eternal love.

I beg your pardon, lady?

I ground my teeth as I spoke imagining that each word was one of the Good Lady's limbs.

Oh you know, the screening thing for bowel cancers and stuff. Don't tell me you didn't know? It is a standard thing that happens to everyone when they turn 50. I mean, come on, you must have heard, right?

She held out her palms like that big statue of the hands guy on the hill outside Rio De Janeiro.

I picked up the envelope and emptied its contents onto the table.

Are you seriously telling me, Good Lady of mine, that you were aware of this... this... inhumanity being perpetrated on the good men-folk of Scotland?

Oh, it's not just men, silly. Its everyone. Everyone has to do it when they are fifty.

She shook slightly as she held in her barely concealed mirth. No doubt she was looking forward to me shitting in a cup. Perhaps she would invite her friends round and take bets on how much shit a good shitter could shit if a good shitter could shit shit. _{^{(in a cup)}}

Everyone? I don't see you shitting in a cup?

I brooded over the contents of the envelope, now it was clear why the great Empire of Britain had failed. Instead of subjugating countries for their natural resources, we had taken a darker path, a much darker and stickier path. Now our time was spent making the good citizenry shit in cups and send it off in little parcels through the mail.

It was blasphemy.

Obviously you don't see me shitting in a cup. One, I am a lady, we do not shit in cups. Two, there is no actual cup shitting, you take a tiny sample on a pipette. And most important of all. I am not an old dramatic bastard like you and my cup shitting days are many years off.

She clucked with self-satisfaction.

I let out an unhappy growl.

Well, I am not doing it. No one makes Daddy shit in a cup. No one.

I folded my arms and raised my chin in defiance at the laws of the land.

The Good Lady stood and picked up the sample kit that came with the letter and held it out to me.

It's an early screening test that saves lives. Get up there and shit in the damn cup. Now.

Her eyes flashed like my old neighbour before the Police visited him and had a quiet word.

Hmmph. Alright then.