The one with the pretty average willy

I HAVE another grandson. That makes three. Plus the five granddaughters; eight in all. And there’s plenty of time for more.

What’s going on? I thought two children per family was normal nowadays, but my kids must not have heard the news. It’s good to address the gender imbalance, though. Not that I feel threatened, but there was a 50 per cent chance the score would be two:six, Then I would have felt outnumbered. As it is I feel merely inadequate.

His father (my son-in-law) took me aside yesterday and whispered: “His, er… you know… tackle… is enormous!”

Pardon me? But no mistake. That’s what he meant. I have a grandson with huge genitals (assuming my son-in-law is not merely bragging). Come to think of it – why is that something to brag about? I can honestly say, no matter what the psychologists insist, the size of my bits has never crossed my mind. Not until yesterday. I always felt I was probably average, and I was comfortable with that. But what if my father murmured to his friends – or worse, his in-laws – “His genitals are pretty average.”?

My life might have been over before it even got properly started. Aren’t all men supposed to nurse a secret desire to be well-endowed, whatever that means? But how would you know? Is there some kind of national database of willy sizes? Is it related to height, or weight? Can I Google it? I’m not game to actually try it, out of curiosity, in case someone walks in at the wrong moment, and is inclined to sit down and explain things to me, while patting my hand solicitously, as you do with dotty old men. Whatever.

Now that I think about it, it’s a big responsibility. I mean, I’m not obsessive-compulsive about the size of my penis, but I wouldn’t want to let the side down, if you’ll pardon the expression. I did a few sums when my new grandson was born. Did you know that in the past 1000 years – long enough to take us back to the time when William the Conqueror successfully invaded England – it took the coupling of 42,043,703,296 people to make me. And you, if it comes to that. Not the same 42,043,703,296, you understand, and not all at once, either; but working on the basis of 30 generations between us and William the Conqueror, it took the coupling of at least that many people, two at a time, to make us. Some of them must have gone round twice because it’s unlikely there were that many people available anywhere in Europe or Asia or Africa or wherever our ancestors hailed from.

But even if it’s half that number, I don’t want to be the one who’s in the hypothetical ancestral photo album, as it were, as the one with a pretty average willy. Come of think of it, although it might have taken all those millions of people to make me, I’ve already embarked on my own mission to make millions more (which is not necessarily a good thing in the 21st century). But my wife and I between us have made five children, and those five have now made eight and counting.

If each new generation has even a mere two children then in 1000 years there’s going to be more than 42 billion kids with my DNA in them. Forty-two billion offspring resulting from a ‘pretty average’ willy? I don’t think so.