I will be 27 on March 20th. How do I know this? My globe-trotting sister just turned 17. I don’t know, but that seems a little older than I feel. I still feel 22 and stupid some days. Others, I feel much much older: like I’m the old man at the party looking at everyone with the bemused wink of someone who’s done it all and knows what’s what. It’s an odd feeling considering that I haven’t left the country to go anywhere other than Mexico in almost 20 years (damn, that’s a long time). Now I know how Jen felt last year. Twenty-seven has a ring to it. It sounds like I should know something, something you learn somewhere between twenty-six and twenty-seven. What that something is though, I have no idea: Always cut away from yourself, never leave the oven on overnight, don’t play with matches, sit when you pee, what is it? Maybe I’ll learn it in the next month or so and be all ready to be a mature and with-it grown up.
Oh, now I know what I really wanted to tell you about today. I have a confession to make. I am comfortable enough with my masculinity and any ridicule that this might bring to tell you my deep dark secret. It’s a gigantic admission for a guy to say this: I pee sitting down. Yes, that’s right. I don’t do the stand-up-and-spray like every good man. I don’t leave pee drops on the seat or floor. I sit like a lady, do my business out of sight and then flush it away without so much as a look. I know you’re all horrified, but it gets worse. And why save more pain for later when I can let it all out now and not think of it again. For some reason, my wife sometimes leaves the seat up. I’m not sure what she’s doing that the seat needs to be up, and I’m a little afraid to ask. Nevertheless, I now know why women get so upset when the seat’s left up and they go to sit down. Sometimes, in the dead of night, when I make the trek to the bathroom, so tired I don’t bother to turn on the light, go into sitting mode, and then… there’s something missing. Ass touches porcelain and the relfexes kick in. There is a fumbled leap up, which is not so graceful with pants around ankles and bits flailing. If I’m lucky, I’m able to gather my wits, do my thing and go back to bed. If I’m not, it means sitting for a while, calming down, and taking 5 minutes to do a 30 second job.
I feel so much better now. Thanks for listening, and understanding.