minor catastrophes

A feminist-in-the-making, or perhaps more likely, just a very odd child.

I must have been four years old the first time it hit me that there were some discrepancies in boy vs. girl part design. I mean, boys could pee standing up. Boys could pee in a pop bottle in a car barreling down the highway — they never had to “just hold it.” Plus, Fruit of the Loom made special G.I. Joe underwear for their little soldiers to peek out the front door and unload their weapon without having to figure out the tangle of underwear and pants around their ankles. Boys could write their name in the snow. No need for toilet paper with a penis.

See?
 
Girls were relegated to sit on germy toilet seats or squat in the woods and pick prickers out of their bum crack. This lack of vagina versatility just didn’t make sense in my pre-school brain. So it was this realization that had me using the bathroom during nap time at daycare. I stood over the potty and tried to aim; pee ran down my legs. I stopped. I tried straddling it while standing, but that didn’t work because I was too small. Then, still standing, I gathered everything I could find down there and shaped it into my best approximation of a penis (which was not very penis-like) and let ‘er rip.
 
Soon there was a large yellow puddle at my feet on the slanted floor, but before I could do anything about it, it formed a stream and migrated under the door. The stream didn’t stop until it found a little boy’s nap mat. As you might imagine, my experiment didn’t go over very well with Mrs. Penny, a large terrifying woman who would pinch me in the dark when I goofed off during nap time — which was often.
 
You would think a failed experiment like that might put my curiosity over the seeming inequality between boy and girl parts to rest.

Not quite.

It was two years later, around Christmas, and I wanted a Barbie Beauty Shop so bad it kept me awake at night. The commercials of little girls combing Barbie’s hair, setting it in rollers and putting blue eyeshadow on her were just KILLING me.
 
You know where this is going, right? No Barbie Beauty Shop under the tree. Instead I got a Mrs. Beasley doll and a canteen.  (Mrs. Beasley was the elderly lady from the 70s show Family Affair. In doll form. Creepy.)

 
I sort of liked the canteen, and I often filled it with water and took it in the car or to a friend’s house in case I was parched and denied refreshment. But then one day I was studying the narrow canteen opening and thought, “I wonder if I could pee in a canteen.”
 
No doubt a BOY could pee in a canteen. I was in my carpeted bedroom and placed the canteen beneath me, although I knew better than to stand. So I squatted, and tried my best.
 
At some level my six-year-old brain must have known that peeing in a canteen was naughty, even though it had never actually been stated as a rule in our house. But I knew enough not to march proudly downstairs to my dad, who was probably holding my new baby brother, slosh the canteen around in his face and say, “Look Dad. I tried to pee in my canteen and actually got some in there! Who needs a son NOW, Bitch?”

As you might imagine, I’ve come a long way since then. I don’t pee in canteens or try to go standing up. I’ve accepted those perceived design flaws of my junk. But with three sons, you can bet I’ve taught them to pee in a bottle while the car speeds down the freeway and encourage them to write their names in the snow.

End Note: One might have thought I'd post something Thanksgiving-like (Not quite sure how I'd tie this post into that theme, though...Umm, I'm thankful for my hoo-ha? And turkey?), but I entered this competition called The Great Experiment, held each month by Monica over at The Girl Who. Anyway, she just asked for all the links to entries, so I had to post this now.

Then there's this extra part where YOU come in. A favor. If you come back over the holiday weekend — between Friday night and Monday morning —  you can vote for me by leaving a comment on Monica's site, which I've linked to here. (Also, there are 12 other links to fine entries you're welcome to read and consider. The theme we were all asked to write about was "The First Time.") Only one vote per computer allowed.

Thanks, in advance, for any support you're willing to offer. The prize is $175, so that will be pretty awesome for whomever wins...Happy Thanksgiving!

* A vote for me is a vote for vaginas everywhere. (I'm manipulative like that.)