Week 27 and the realisations of expecting a boy are really starting to filter through my mind.
A lot of his lessons in life, will rest squarely on my shoulders. Things like…
I’m going to have to teach him how to use…public toilets.
Navigating the minefield of disgusting unsanitary hazards of neanderthals, whose care for basic human hygiene is as carefree as a six year old running through a lawn sprinkler. Learning the difference between a urinal and a hand basin (my younger brother made that fatal mistake around the age or 4 or 5). How to avoid stepping in other people’s “puddles” and avoiding stray pubic hairs and droplets on the seat. Laying paper on the seat before you sit and try not to panic when the toilet water splashes up against your undercarriage. Never look at another man’s junk and most importantly, don’t eat the urinal cakes…they’re not lollies.
And it doesn’t stop there. There’s also…
The joys and hazards of having…one of “those“.
Where to stick it, how to clean it, how to conceal it at inopportune moments and most importantly…do everything you can to avoid getting hit in it!
And then things just get murky when he becomes a teenager. No chance in hand-balling that one over to the missus.
I guess I shouldn’t be at all surprised that it’s up to me to tackle the subject of “the tackle”.
After all, it takes one to know one.