IT’S ONLY WHEN HELEN asks me if I have an athletic cup that I question my decision to give into my, for lack of a better word, temptations.
“Why?” I ask.
“For your protection,” she says matter-of-factly.
“You’re not planning on—”
“Oh, of course I’m not planning on hitting you there,” she laughs. “But that is the most vulnerable area on a man, and I will be demonstrating some strikes to disable an attacker.”
“But darling,” I say nervously, “I mean, I was injured there not that long ago.”
“I promise I’ll pull my punches. But, accidents can happen.”
Fortunately, I’m able to find the one I purchased for my ill-conceived plan to play softball in seminary, and promptly at 7 p.m., I am in the church basement wearing sweatpants, a t-shirt, and said cup. I’m standing in the middle of a circl
