Men get to pee anywhere they like.
Well, obviously not anywhere. In general, men are discouraged from urinating just willy nilly, all over the subway tiles (Paris, France notwithstanding) and certainly not in the potted shrubs outside the bank, unless they are really confident about getting that loan approved. They are also not allowed to tinkle in a public space, unless they really have to, or the Port-A-Potty is gross. So I suppose that also voids pretty much most of urban and suburban Canada and likely the greater portion of the U.S., except for Reno.
But apart from that, they can piddle just about anywhere and it's considered completely okay. Not only okay but actually a right.
Well today, I took a big step towards gender equality, while out on trail with the dogs for their morning pooch walk and let me just tell you, I feel free.
I mean, I've ducked behind the bushes before, under duress, when it was pretty clear that we were still hours from the top of whatever godforsaken mountain Husband was forcing me to trek up. Honestly, why are mountains so bloody large and why do all the best views come at the top? I mean, who decreed that? Surely a view that includes the mountain you would otherwise be standing on is just as good, possibly even better, than the one you can barely see through your darkening vision, as the Death Zone wraps it's fingers around your failing heart.
I've lost momentum. Peeing. Right.
I was not stressed or too far from at least four reputable coffee shops, two of which might even be open in this town on a Sunday. I was not long on trail, nor was it a medical emergency. We were not stranded or hours from civilization. It was not dark. There were no trees. And it felt wonderful. I peed for my sisters. I peed for generations of oppressed. I peed for freedom.
And also, because I had three big cups of coffee before the dog walk.
