Where There Is Pee There is War
This morning as a wiped my toilet clean, which I do most days at some point because there is nothing worse than being overtaken with nausea and sticking your face into a bowl of piss, pubes, and poop, it came upon me what a lucky woman I truly am.
Lucky to be cleaning a toilet?
Well, yes, although that’s not where I was going. I am certainly lucky to have two functional hands, working indoor plumbing, cleaning supplies, and a home in which to use them.
Three cheers for Lysol!
Let us offer up hosannas in the highest for toilet bowl scrubbers!
Much gratitude for not having to urinate into a hole in the ground.
But seriously though.
What I actually felt lucky about was the men in my life.
You see, I’ve seldom had to deal with toilet bowl seats being left up, and I have NEVER had to deal with men who who miss the bowl. Flushing cleanser down the pipes this morning, it struck me that I have been extremely fortunate in my lifetime.
We can argue all day about whether toilet seats should be left up or down – the entire bowl should be closed, end of story, and I think you’re freaking grody if you disagree – but there is truly no defense for not being able to get your pee to hit the target.
If you miss (which, I guess happens, but not being a penis-bearer, I certainly don’t understand how that works), you are responsible for cleaning up after yourself.
Let me repeat:
If you get pee anywhere but inside the toilet bowl, you have to clean up your own pee.
Otherwise, you’re a disgusting, lazy piece of shit.
I have known many and sundry pieces of shit – and I am still, sadly, in acquaintance with some to this very day – but no matter how horrible the individual in question, I have never had to deal with a disgusting, lazy piece of shit who leaves behind a mess of pee in his wake.
I always thought this was par for the course.
But as it turns out, I was simply privileged.
There are actually women who have little boys and who frequently complain about how their little ankle-biters miss. As the mother of a male ankle-biter myself (and the aunt of some very special ankle-biter male nephews), I don’t understand this concept, since I taught my son to piss properly (and my sister, likewise, taught my nephews to piss properly, too), and to clean up after himself if for some reason his pointer got distracted and shot the wrong direction.
Because that’s a mother’s job:
We teacher our sons how to pee in the toilet, and we teach them how to NOT be disgusting, lazy pieces of shit.
So maybe “privileged” just then was the wrong word. Maybe I meant “good parent” because what kind of dumbass mom doesn’t teach her son to pee properly in a toilet, followed immediately by how to NOT be a disgusting, lazy piece of shit?
Which is to say, when some of you moms post things on Facebook about how your bathroom smells like pee because you’re raising boys and your boys don’t know how to pee in the toilet or, apparently, how to clean up their own pee, that, my dear mommy-friend, is actually a sad statement on your abilities as a parent.
And I know, I know – we mothers are not supposed to negatively judge each other. We are supposed to support one another’s parenting abilities. I am now guilty of contributing to the Mommy Wars.
I just can’t help myself.
Particularly if your bathroom is gross.
If you prefer, you may read this less as a negative judgment on your poor parenting skills and more as a suggested lesson plan.
Allow me to introduce you to this fabulous thing called Mothering 101:
You are the boss.
If your bathroom smells like piss, don’t clean it yourself; get your son (or sons) ((or other disgusting male significant other)) into the bathroom and make them clean up that health hazard themselves.
Otherwise you are teaching them several things.
1. You are a slave.
2. It’s okay to pee everywhere.
3. Someone else will always be available to clean up after them.
Do yourself a favor:
Stop laughing (((HAHAHA BOYS WILL BE BOYS HAHAHA))) and/or complaining (((UGH BOYS ARE DISGUSTING UGH))) and start making boys and men wipe up their own goddamn pee. And skid marks. And pubic hairs.
Like I said, I’m lucky.
My husband and my son have never, ever peed anywhere but in the toilet, or at least, I’ve never had to clean up after them. I’ve never had to specifically tell them with regard to piss that I’m not their slave. They just know. They are pretty smart and capable.
Don’t you want the guys in your life to be smart and capable, too?
If you do nothing else this year, make this announcement:
Where there is pee there is war.