Peeing Off the Porch

One of our granddaughters visited us recently.  The little sweetheart wanted to swing on the set I designed and built for all my grandbabies so, of course, that was our priority.  Annie started off pushing the little darlin’ and they enjoyed themselves for a while.  Then Annie asked me to take over.  She had to take a trip into the house to “visit the little girls’ room”.  The little one didn’t want to stop swinging so I took over the pushing duties.

Annie’s announcement must have awakened something in me and, soon after she headed to the house, the coffee I’d had that morning begged to be recycled.  Like my wife, I HAD to GO.  Annie had just gone inside so I, literally, had no relief in sight.  I had to take a leak before I sprang a leak

Our granddaughter was still enthusiastic about swinging so I just couldn’t stop her. No self-respecting grandpa would.

But I did have one big advantage over Annie.  I am MAN!

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Women have certain limitations imposed on them by biology.  They have to disrobe to one extent or another to tinkle.  They also have to find a place where they can squat for the duration in reasonable comfort, as well as safety from creepy-crawlies and inquisitive eyes.

When I was a kid one of my cousins shared with me a story about walking into the bathroom when his mother was relieving herself.  By the sound he knew what was going on and asked, “Why do you sit down?  I stand up.”

My aunt mumbled as she tried to avoid discussing the issue with her young son, but he saved her by answering his own question, “I guess you can’t aim as good as I can.”

In hunting dog parlance, women are setters; men are pointers.

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Also, even though both sexes are subject to the problem that sometimes they sprinkle when they tinkle, women trying to “go” outdoors, run a risk that men don’t have to worry too much about.

Many years ago, I was dating a country girl who gladly accompanied me on some of my treks through the woods.  A few miles into one such hike she decided she needed to void some of the water she’d been drinking.  She moved away from me and found a hidden spot to do her necessaries while I politely moved a reasonable distance down the trail.

Moments later my girlfriend rejoined me, but now she had a look of embarrassment on her lovely face.  I wondered why as I hadn’t seen any sign of another hiker on the trail who might have happened upon her while she was tapping a kidney.  And that’s when I noticed a squishing sound every time her left foot landed on the trail.

Leaning against a tree on a hillside, my girlfriend wasn’t able to aim well enough.

Yep, she had taken a leak in her sneak.

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Despite efforts by modern society to convince people that the male of the species is a throwback to more primitive times at best, or a mistake of nature at worst, I think we won the genetic lottery with our “plumbing.”

Other than when a guy walks hip deep in ice cold water I think we’re pretty lucky with our God-given equipment for liquid management.  I believe we drew all aces when it came to the drainage game.  You could say we are the wizards of whizzing, the number one at number one, a natural urinary masterpiece.

Ah, I am man…master of the world beneath my…uh, feet.

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Annie and I raised our six boys in the country.  She’s a farm girl so she could have guided me through the raising of daughters but I still believe raising sons in the country has major advantages.  Peeing off the porch is one of them.  Whereas little girls have to find a hidden place or go into the house, we just taught the boys to turn away to avoid putting on a show, unzip, and let go with a sigh.

Potty training was a snap…or, well, a zip.

Of course, the boys, being boys, sometimes took advantage of the freedom biology afforded them and decided it was easier to go out the back door than walk all the way down the hall to the bathroom.

Thus it was that Annie asked me one day if I knew why all the grass was dying in a semicircle around the steps to our back porch.  I hesitated with my reply just long enough for snickers from our lazy loo-challenged sons to give her all the answer she needed.

She shook her head in disgust.  They were nothing but a bunch of porch-peeing Neanderthals.

They learned from the best.

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You see, there are some great things about being a guy, and peeing off the porch is one of them.  I doubt if there is a man alive who hasn’t taken a leak off a porch, or a bridge, or a cliff, or while standing on a branch up in a tree…or tried writing their name in the snow for that matter, using only the pencil nature provided them.  Not to mention the joy of finding a line of ants crawling along where he can rain on their parade.

To answer your question, yes…all of it.

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Someday I’d like to hike the Appalachian Trail.  There is a length of it that follows, parallels, or straddles the border between North Carolina and Tennessee.  My male readers are already way ahead of me.  They are probably making plans themselves to find a way to stand in North Carolina and wee on Tennessee.  Heck, a little farther north at the border with Virginia they could earn bragging rights by watering three states at once.

Now you know why I have to go hike that trail.  After all, when you gotta go, you gotta go.

Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.

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Speaking of needing to go…back to my innocent granddaughter who I was pushing in the swing when I felt the urge to drain the main vein.  Being an ever-resourceful guy, I pushed the swing a little higher than before and dodged around the deck and the corner of the shed.  Looking back to be 100% positive she couldn’t see, I turned my back and made like a Russian racehorse. 

Finished, I returned to pushing the swing, which had barely had time to slow.  Moments later I saw Annie coming out the back door, down the steps and through the now green grass.

I smiled to myself.  It’s great to be a man, baby.  The world is my urinal.

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