I read this in the BMJ...
Hell of a use of the English language...
Originally posted by <Liam Farrell general practitioner, Crossmaglen, County Armagh>
Two months ago I went to France for the European rugby semi-final between Munster and Toulouse. As francophile as Belloc (every civilised man has two native countries, his own and France), I wanted to look like a local, so I wore a pair of stylish shorts.
At half time, like the other 40 000 in attendance, I had to visit the bathroom, and it was there that I had a most revealing and refreshing experience.
As we stood shoulder to shoulder in the men’s urinal, rejoicing in the sensual
delights of what Thomas More described in Utopia as one of life’s great pleasures, I began to feel little droplets tinkling pitter-patter, like the tap-dancing feet of Astaire, on my bare legs.
I should emphasise that, unsanitary as this may seem, of itself it was not an unpleasant nor disturbing experience, like having a controversial obituary
written about me in the BMJ. The droplets, no doubt influenced by the vast
amounts of beer and wine consumed, were softened and diluted, like a
renaissance fountain in an Italian piazza on a hot and humid day or like the
caress of gentle rain on naked and hungover skin on a soft Irish morning in
spring. The sunlight created whimsical little rainbows in the mist, and despite a few shoves from behind and many playful cries of “vite, vite,” a congenial
ambience of masculine bonhomie and good fellowship thrived.
But I have been brooding, and what once seemed innocent has since opened
a Pandora’s box of doubt and excessive personal daintiness. There is a bigger,
less romantic picture; obviously this is happening all the time. It is happening
to each one of us, but we don’t notice it because we are wearing trousers, and it is our unfortunate trousers that bear the brunt of other people’s enthusiasm and exuberance and inaccuracy.
The experience has significantly modified my behaviour. I’d always had an
insouciant attitude to other people’s body fluids, and been quite comfortable
with my body, outgoing and chatty even in those most intimate moments as the sphincters open, whereas now I am reserved and taciturn and require large amounts of space and privacy before voiding.
I am particularly circumspect of those in the company with a vigorous
stream. Can you identify the streamer in your group? He could be sitting next to you right now.
At half time, like the other 40 000 in attendance, I had to visit the bathroom, and it was there that I had a most revealing and refreshing experience.
As we stood shoulder to shoulder in the men’s urinal, rejoicing in the sensual
delights of what Thomas More described in Utopia as one of life’s great pleasures, I began to feel little droplets tinkling pitter-patter, like the tap-dancing feet of Astaire, on my bare legs.
I should emphasise that, unsanitary as this may seem, of itself it was not an unpleasant nor disturbing experience, like having a controversial obituary
written about me in the BMJ. The droplets, no doubt influenced by the vast
amounts of beer and wine consumed, were softened and diluted, like a
renaissance fountain in an Italian piazza on a hot and humid day or like the
caress of gentle rain on naked and hungover skin on a soft Irish morning in
spring. The sunlight created whimsical little rainbows in the mist, and despite a few shoves from behind and many playful cries of “vite, vite,” a congenial
ambience of masculine bonhomie and good fellowship thrived.
But I have been brooding, and what once seemed innocent has since opened
a Pandora’s box of doubt and excessive personal daintiness. There is a bigger,
less romantic picture; obviously this is happening all the time. It is happening
to each one of us, but we don’t notice it because we are wearing trousers, and it is our unfortunate trousers that bear the brunt of other people’s enthusiasm and exuberance and inaccuracy.
The experience has significantly modified my behaviour. I’d always had an
insouciant attitude to other people’s body fluids, and been quite comfortable
with my body, outgoing and chatty even in those most intimate moments as the sphincters open, whereas now I am reserved and taciturn and require large amounts of space and privacy before voiding.
I am particularly circumspect of those in the company with a vigorous
stream. Can you identify the streamer in your group? He could be sitting next to you right now.
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