Peeing There

I was up early, around 5:00 AM, watching it snow and working on my novel and wondering who I would REALLY NOT WANT IN THE SAME ROOM WITH ME WHILE I'M PEEING ...

I counted the same number of people who, in my opinion, threaten my marriage with their questionable activities and life-style choices.

Still, I decided, after weighing out the pros and cons, the privacy issues, that if Caitlin (formerly Bruce, the two-time Olympic Decathlon Gold Medalist) Jenner wanted to pee in the urinal next to me even if she was in heels and a dress and I could glance over and sneak a look at her cleavage—which I wouldn't do, by the way, anymore than I would look down to check out her retained from former days "cash and prizes," as someone close to me once said—it would be okay. I'd be fine if Caitlin wanted to hold on and have an old school comfort pee beside me like she might have back when she was Bruce.

I would also be fine if Caitlin wanted to have a seat in a stall next to where my wife was peeing, if she was peeing, in a public facility where this is done, even if she, Caitlin, still had her original equipment, her cash and prizes, as it were, it would be okay—

All I'd want to ask Caitlin if she were peeing beside me was if, now that she had breasts, all she did was play with them all day. Did she? Because that's what most of us guys who haven't made that life-style choice imagine we'd do if we actually had our own tits to play with: that we'd do nothing but play with our tits all day.

I'm sorry, I know that's coarse, but that's what we call them when women aren't around to hear us. Imagine making a life-style choice where you go one day from being someone who says tits to someone who says boobs, from being disgusting and coarse and kind of okay with it to being, well—

Which is why I'd probably say boobs or breasts to Caitlin if I was peeing next to her and asking her that question, because my guess is, having made that life-style choice, she would probably prefer boobs and breasts to tits. It's only polite, her deciding to have a pee in the men's room, where all us coarse and disgusting fuckers gather, notwithstanding. Who knows, maybe she decided to come in and pee in the men's room because she didn't feel all that comfortable in the women's room. At least not yet. Frankly, it's not a stretch to imagine she'd be a little uncomfortable in both. Which makes you wonder why she made that life-style choice. Why after winning two gold medals and marrying the Kardashian girl with the ... well, that he had to go and complicate things.

People sure are funny ...

But honestly, my wife and I, we don't care. We don't care either way. We don't care who we relieve ourselves next to or who does the same next to us. Maybe because we're weird and aren't adequately fearful of the threat to our privacy, though it seems to us that maybe those of us who haven't made that life-style choice are a bigger threat to the privacy of those who have made that life-style choice. Which I know sounds crazy, and you're thinking, That can't be! It has to be the other way around!

But we figured if we ever pee'd in the same room with Caitlin, we'd probably—shit, who are we kidding, we'd absolutely—be talking about it with everyone we knew for days, maybe even weeks. And everyone else who pee'd in the same room as her that day and every day to come—I mean for a long time, at least until people quit thinking it was such a big deal—would be telling everyone, too!

It wouldn't be that different than not so long ago being that gay couple dancing at a wedding and having everyone at the wedding that hadn't ever seen anything like that before telling everyone they saw for weeks to come that they saw two queers dancing at a wedding ...

Earl, get out your IPhone, I just saw a tranny go into the toilet to pee ...

I know, things like that don't happen anymore. Hardly ever. And they'd happen even less if certain people didn't just decide to throw their life away and be weird in their life-style choices, and make it uncomfortable for those of us (not me, of course, or my wife, or my children) who are already pretty comfortable, but is it too much to ask to be more comfortable still?

For instance, what possessed Paul Ryan to grow that beard when he was hunting deer last year and then decide to be weird and make people uncomfortable by not shaving it off when he got back to Washington and being a respectable Speaker of the House? Who did he think he was, Abraham Lincoln? What kind of asshole does shit like that?

And Hillary. What are we supposed to call her husband once she becomes president? Did she think about this when she decided to, I don't know, become the first woman president? What if he decides, now that he's vegan, that for the sake of propriety and tradition, he's going to make another big life-style choice? Who's going to stop him? His Secret Service detail? Who is going to stop him if he decides he wants to be a full-on FLOTUS?

Named Billie.

"What's Billie the FLOTUS doing, Mrs. President?"

"He's playing with his tits. Which, just let it go, is better than a lot of other things he could be doing."

There are still three months until the middle of July, and the GOP Convention that's supposed to be such fun. Paul Ryan has categorically said that he doesn't want, and won't accept, the nomination, since (give him credit) he didn't run for the job. Privately, my sources tell me that if they push him he's going to grow a hipster beard and put his hair up in a man-bun. Which would show them.

So, we have that to look forward to.

One way or another it'll be a nightmare for about 40% of the land.

See you next Sunday!