So I was standing at the urinal today, and it occurred to me that there is a great universal fear with which all men must contend, but from which women are completely immune.
Women, in fact, are often jealous of our ability to urinate standing up, and particularly lament their squatting requirement when there’s not a readily-available clean commode. But have they ever considered that, to quote Uncle Ben, “With great power there must also come great responsibility?”
Sure, relieving ones self while standing is a great male perk, but there’s always the horrible fear of pissing on your own shirt tail.
It’s a terrible possibility, and like having your home broken into, it only has to happen to you once to make you an absolute slave to the irrational fear that it will happen again. And there’s no remedy, short of a new shirt, if it happens to you. Sure, you can try to wash it out in the sink, but then you have an even more thoroughly soaked shirt tail to contend with. Leave it out; look likes you wet yourself. Tuck it in; it soaks through your pants, and it still looks like you wet yourself.
You see, girls, it’s not all wine and roses at the wall-mounted porcelain throne.