(scene: Mid-afternoon. Brooke and Army Boy are out for a drive, looking at apartments.)
Brooke: Hmmm, I didn’t notice those over there. *points*
Army Boy: Oh, it looks like they converted an old school.
Brooke: That could be neat.
AB: It could…
Brooke: And it could be gross. I mean, as long as they renovated in cool ways inside. Didn’t just turn classrooms into bedrooms.
AB: And CLEANED. Ew.
Brooke: With our luck, we’d end up in the apartment that used to be the guys’ bathroom. And it would smell like urinal cakes. And B.O.
AB: What. Urinal cakes smell good.
AB: Fresh ones. Kinda… flowery.
Brooke: *makes gagging noises*
AB: WHAT?! Sometimes I DO just go to the bathroom to use the new urinal cake.
Brooke: You’re sick. Just. Ugh.
AB: How much experience do YOU have with urinal cakes?
Brooke: Enough to know that they’re little smelly toilet breathsavers that DO NOT smell good. They smell like Pee Flowers.
AB: Why are you even coming in contact with urinals?
Brooke: Some places have co-ed bathrooms. Jerk.
AB: I still say they smell good.
And then I refused to talk to him for about an hour.
Is it just me, or do guys LOVE urinals? To an almost creepy extent? Something about the special little guys-only waste receptacle gives them a completely disproportionate sense of pride and accomplishment.
“I can use this, and you can’t.”
It’s true. Women don’t come equipped with the magical pee-aiming device that is particular to men. But we also don’t get all jazzed whenever we have to use the regular toilet. As in “I can pee sitting down and not squirt myself in the eye. SO there!”
Practically any guy that you ask would be psyched to have his own urinal. At his home. A pharmacist coworker of mine does, in his basement. As all the guys learn of the existence of said pseudo-throne, the reaction is invariably the same.
And then, “Man, I wish I could get one!”
After our ginormous home renovation project in 2008, we gained a small second basement under the new portion of the house. Dad immediately staked out this area as his “man cave”. And the urinal jokes began.
Yet when you ask them “WHY?”, they’re never able to give a concrete reason. Just “it’s a guy thing.” Is there some sort of Urinal Fraternity that young men join when they pass the age that they’re going into the bathroom with their moms? Is it really that much easier to aim at the porcelain wall-hanging versus trying to get it in the bowl with minimal drippage on the floor?
Perhaps I’ll have a comparable experience with something uniquely female, such as pregnancy or (*shudder*) childbirth. I may emerge from that time in my life with a new “BOO YAH!” attitude that being a Woman is the Best Thing Ever, and you boys can keep your urinals. What I did required much more of The Awesome than peeing on the wall. For now, those things that are uniquely female, and which I will not list because you can figure them out, mostly leave me feeling less than Sunshiney.
Personally, the concept of whipping out My Parts and peeing in a line with Other Guys and Their Parts is creepy. I’d be the Weird Guy with No Friends that pees in the stalls. I know, somehow during their lifetime of bathroom usage, guys become immune to that ritual of peeing in front of each other. It’s an issue that women really aren’t supposed to worry about. But honestly. Ew.
(PS- I wouldn’t recommend a “Google Image” search with the term “urinal”. Just saying. )