Piss n Boots

     I grew up in the 80’s : age of 📼, Power Pads, Jheri’s curl & tighty whities. My mom has 5 sons, I’ve seen my share of the tightys. One of my mom’s biggest gripes with her youngest 4 sons (a club of which I’m Vice President) involved those drawls & pis stains. I won’t bore you with the details but allegedly, there was a consistent presence of such stains in my childhood homes. I’m sure that most of the multitudes of little boys who left pis stains in their drawls did so for a single reason (psst, it’s mostly not purposely done).

     As a man I no longer wear tighty whities nor do I suffer the affliction that is pis stainery (hold all 👏🏾). . . Simply put, I learned patience : a difficult lesson to learn, a priceless gift to attain.  As a boy it was as if I were in a rush to do everything, afraid that I would miss even 1 thing. Life comes at you fast as a kid. . . School, the opposite sex (same sex in the case of some others, not sure sex in the case of still others), parents, chores, peers, clothes. . . so, if I can shave a few seconds of of my lap time by rushing throw a pis; so be it. Thing is, as a boy I missed nothing except the opportunity to not have irritated/worried my Mama so much. As a man, I miss more things than I did as a boy but not missing such things ain’t worth the pis stains. As a man I pis & when I’m done I remain there for a few seconds (which at the time feels like an eternity) & it never fails, the few remaining remnants of the brief minute monsoon matriculate into their oblivion . . . I pis a lil more.