There has been a good deal of speculation about why this column has not yet weighed in on the notorious Virginia wife who cut off her husband's . . . well, you know.
Oh, I wanted to write about it. Big story like that, who wouldn't want to tackle it?
But every time I sat at the word processor and typed the word "Bobbitt," I would double over involuntarily and bang my head violently on the keyboard.
Then I'd start hyperventilating and making a high-pitched noise ("Eeee! Eeee!") that sounded like a beagle with its paw stuck in a screen door.
Obviously, that's no way to work, being on the verge of blacking out every time you type in a certain name.
So for a while I avoided writing about the matter altogether and contented myself with taking the usual cheap shots at accordion players, mimes, cats, etc.
In fact, it got to the point where I didn't even want to hear about the Bobbitt case.
Other guys would come up and slap me on the back and say: "Geez, how about that guy whose crazy wife cut off his . . . " and I'd clamp my hands over my ears and start humming real loud, usually "Turkey in the Straw" or something like that, to drown out what was being said.
It was real childish behavior, no question about it.
A 41-year-old guy in a newsroom with his hands over his ears humming something you'd hear on "Barney and Friends" -- people tend to think you have a problem.
Now, though, a sufficient amount of time has passed, to the point where I feel able to discuss the whole business like an adult.
For instance, I picked up the paper the other day and there was a story in which John Bobbitt claims to have forgiven his wife for, um, slicing off his . . . thing.
After doubling over involuntarily (but not banging my head violently on the keyboard this time), I had a couple of thoughts occur to me.
Granted, no one but John and Lorena Bobbitt knows exactly what prompted Lorena to be rustling around in the knife drawer at that hour of the morning.
But how on earth do you forgive someone for slicing off your . . .?
I don't know, maybe it's me.
Maybe there is a certain type of individual who can have his . . . thing sliced off and thrown out of a car window like it's a gum wrapper or something and still remark a few months later: "Look, it was late, we were both a little tired and cranky, she grabbed a knife.
"These things happen. Hey, the truth is, she's a great gal. Really."
The newspaper story went on to quote Bobbitt as saying he might even be willing to reconcile with his wife, though "it would take a lot to get us back together."
Yes, well, one would certainly think so. Reconciliation!
Boy, you talk about a guy who doesn't hold a grudge!
Look, I thought Reginald Denny was something for forgiving those goons who were taking batting practice with his head last year at the corner of Florence and Normandie.
But Denny comes off like a grumpy, bitter man compared to John Bobbitt.
John Bobbitt has his manhood sliced off by his wife and then says to her (in a manner of speaking): "Hey, don't be a stranger. Let's get together for coffee, see if we can't hash this whole nutty business out."
Look, even if they did get back together, is this really the sort of incident a young couple can put behind them?
Me, I don't see the two of them sitting at the kitchen table anytime soon, giddy from a few glasses of wine, and John saying: "Lor, 10 years from now we'll look back on this whole thing and laugh!"
You know how other couples are always re-hashing memorable fights from their past?
The time he forgot to pick up her mother at the airport? Or the time she forgot his boss was coming over for dinner and had a Domino's Pizza waiting?
Well, if these two crazy kids get back together, John can always liven up a cocktail party with: "Hey, Lor, remember that time . . . oh, gosh, when was it, '92, 93? . . . when you cut off my penis?
"Boy, you were some kinda angry that day!"
And how does Lorena come back with a snappy remark for that?
Does she say: "Hey, hasn't everybody cut off a penis at one time or another?"
But, again, maybe I'm the one who's out of step here (God knows, it wouldn't be the first time.)
Maybe these two nutty kids can make a go of it again.
Although my hands are sweating right now, and I don't care to discuss the subject anymore.