Penises are funny looking and I’m guessing a little uncomfortable considering how many times I see men reaching down there to adjust things. So when people talk about penis envy, I’m a little baffled. Shouldn’t men have vagina envy? I mean all of our “junk” is neatly tucked away inside of us. It’s like our genitalia went to The Container Store and theirs is still living with that closet that explodes when you open it.
Which leads me to my confusement, a confusing but amusing conversation I had with my 2 ½ year old yesterday. Zoey has wanted nothing to do with potty training. Until recently when a tiny pair of the cutest My Little Pony panties trotted into her life. Now she wants nothing more than to wear them, and has lately been doing just that… over her clothing. I pray she grows out of this by middle school as I’m pretty sure there isn’t a lunch table for kids who wear overpants.
So yesterday she dragged the training potty into the kitchen. She didn’t want to miss out on any of the action. About thirty minutes into sitting on the potty when her tush had those red semi circle impressions on it (don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about), she spoke.
“I want to pee with that thing.”
“What thing?” I ask Little Miss Vague.
“That thing that Daddy has.”
Oh no she didn’t. I stifle my giggles for about two seconds and then I have to walk into the next room where I burst out laughing, then compose myself and return.
“Girls don’t have that thing,” I say. I should be using the word penis but I know I can’t do it without laughing. Just call me Beavis or Butthead, your choice. “Boys have them, but girls don’t.”
“You have hair there but I don’t,” she says next.
“Yes, kids don’t have hair there, but grownups do. One day you will.”
Apparently this is the end of the conversation because I’m taking a box of corny dogs out of the freezer. She leaps off the potty because she wants to help me get one out of the box. She forgets her sweatpants are around her ankles and makes it about two steps before careening to the floor face first, and then gets up without flinching like a drunk college student who feels no pain.
“Walk carefully,” I tell her, close to bursting out with laughter again.
“If I pull my pants up I can walk normally,” she responds.
Touché, Zoey. Touché.
In conclusion… for months we’ve been trying to find the right incentive to help her potty train— M&Ms, a sticker chart, gold bullion, water-boarding. And all this time, all I needed to get her was a penis. Hmmm, maybe the next time I’m in Times Square I’ll pick one up for her. Of course TSA will probably choose that time to search my bag on my flight back and won’t that be embarrassing.