I can't believe I'm writing a post about urinals

I like to think I know from boys. Growing up, I spent a lot more time hanging out with boys than with girls, espeically in those teen years when gender differences become prevalent. Then I married not one but two guys (although not at the same time), and of course I contributed to the world's male population with two sons of my own.

Being the primary caregiver for two sets of male apparatus has been enlightening. For example, I didn't know before I had boys of my own that the fly in underwear is purely for decoration and not for utility. I had no idea that you have to take care in pointing a baby boy's bits in just the right direction when closing up a diaper or risk leakage. And I had no idea the extent to which those bits extended beyond plumbing and procreation to the realm of imaginary friend and playmate.

Being surrounded as I am by the XY chromosome, I was interested to read this article in the weekend Citizen about the new trend toward home urinals. Yes, you read it here first. That article was interesting enough in itself, but what truly fascinated me was the final paragraph.

Perhaps the real appeal of having a urinal at home is that it offers a taste of the sort of freedom men can experience in only a natural or rural setting. As one designer admitted, off the record, rather than a urinal at home, what men really want is a bathroom door that leads directly to a patch of lawn and a strategically placed tree.

I had no idea that the ability to pee outside was anything more than a convenient option. It's actually a preference?

Clearly, I still have a lot to learn.