This guy we
know, Pac, was pissing on our lawn. It happened very time we had him
over. He'd get loaded on alcohol, having wine with dinner first, then
tearing into the twelve-year old whiskey I always keep, like it was
going out of style. Then he'd say he was off to the bathroom to do
his "natural thing". The first time we believed him, what
reason would you have to doubt? That was all about ten years ago.
Then we heard the neighbour's twin daughters screaming and discovered
that he was pissing on our front lawn, right there for everyone to see,
like it was the most normal thing in the world. We soon got used to
it though, became a regular thing. We'd hear the front door click open
and off he'd go. Even the neighbour's daughters got used to it, first
appalled, then in fits of giggles. Now they just look at Pac with a
grim curiosity, wondering, I'm sure, how a guy gets to be like that.
Pac's real
name is Pat. For some reason everyone quickly got used to calling him
Pac. And I must say it suits
him better, though I really don't know why. You'd think to look at
him that he is as ordinary as the next guy, until he does his toilet
thing. These days he does a few meagre jobs, helping out with odds
and ends, nothing too taxing. My wife thinks because he no longer does
serious work that he feels free to do whatever he damn-well likes, and
that means he has no problem taking out his penis in full view of everyone
and pissing on our grass. I tend to disagree, I think he does it because
he gets so drunk, he drinks wine like water, the whiskey, if you'll
excuse the phrase, doesn't last pissing time. I think he just gets
satisfaction from pissing in the open. I do too. When I'm fishing
with Doug I often have to go behind a tree and relieve myself. I have
to. I'd burst otherwise. I do enjoy it too, I have to admit. I'll
challenge any man to say he doesn't like doing it outdoors!
When I mentioned this to my wife she said that for women it was a whole
other ball game, but then we decided we were both sick of penis/genital/piss
puns. Maybe women just don't enjoy pissing as much as men, I say "maybe",
but of course I have no way of qualifying that. But I do wonder about
all the conversations Pac has caused over the years; us, discussing
and analysing penises, vaginas, bladders etc. Most of these talks come
to nothing. All kind of pointless.
Next thing,
Pac comes over to dinner and both of us expect the old routine. Susie
doesn't even bother to put new soap in the bathroom, Pac had hardly
ever been in there, unless he had to shit, but we think he has never
done that in our house. Anyway, we were expecting him to say he's off
to answer nature's request, to hear the front door open and let his
hot steam rise in the cool night sky. But he doesn't, he just goes
upstairs to the bathroom. I look out the window and see the twins watching,
waiting for him. They'd seen him get off the bus and stroll over and
are wondering why his ding-dong hasn't appeared yet. Thing is you see,
Pac, isn't as drunk as he normally is, he's had a few, but is no way
near as inebriated as he's been in the past. Of course we say nothing.
We've never said anything. We just put up with him because he's Pat,
or now Pac, because when Susie hit him with her car ten years ago and
his mind was never quite the same, we knew that whatever he wanted to
do would be ok with us. Who were we to say what was right?
