Penises have always, always confused me. And when I say confuse, I kind of really mean that I have always been jealous of any person with a penis. You people with your penises; you live a charmed life.
But alas, no matter how long I chased after this “fairy tale” life. I was never able to capture this wanting. No, this need, to pee standing up.
It happened when I was seven. I accidently walked in on my brother in the bathroom, and there he was. Peeing and standing! It made absolutely no sense. How was the pee making it into the toilet? How did I not know I could do this?
I closed the door, allowing my brother to finish his “important” business and impatiently waited. And waited.
“Come on, Nathan! You’re like a girl in the bathroom!”
He opened the door, with the putrid smell of ass wafting in the bathroom.
But I didn’t care. This was going to be my moment. Adrenaline rushing, I flew into the bathroom –forgetting to close the door –unbutton my pants and wait for the sound of tinkling. But it didn’t happen.
“Natalie Paige Wall!” screamed my horrified mother as she caught me hovering over the toilet and staring down at my pee-drenched underwear.
“What are you doing?!”
She grabbed my hand, shoved me into new clothes (which was a dress that I absolutely hated and threw a fit about) and dragged me outside to my father.
“It’s time for the talk.” She said airily to my dad.
“Talk to your daughter!”
Twenty minutes later and a lot of awkward phrases from my father, I was pissed off. All of a sudden god seemed like a dirty little bastard to me. Life was so unfair. Never would I get to write my name in the snow with my own pee. Never would I be able pee wherever I wanted. It was so wrong, so unjust. But God couldn’t have thought of everything. There must be a loophole.
“Wait, so why don’t I have a penis again?”
“Cause, you are a girl.”
“Wait, can I grow one?”
“Can I make one?”
“So you are telling me that I can never pee standing up.”
“What if I arch my back?
My father was lying! This was bullshit. I know I can pee standing up. I can just feel it. So, whatever, I don’t have a penis. Saying I can’t pee standing up just cause I’m a girl, well, that’s just racist, dad. I just need practice, that’s all.
And oh, did I practice. I practiced in my bathroom, I practiced in my parent’s bathroom, I even practiced in public bathrooms at the mall, but my mom always seemed to catch me.
“Natalie, why are your feet facing the toilet?”
“I don’t know.”
“God dammit, Natalie!”
But it never happened. No matter how hard I tried and no matter how far I arched my back. I never heard that tinkling sound of success.
To this day, I still sigh a breath of jealously any time I see a guy pee standing up. It was never a hygiene thing for me or some OCD thing. It was pure laziness. You men get everything, and you don’t even appreciate it.