Swear to God, the notion of pissing into a sink never ever occurred to me until, one night, said notion was proposed by nearly all of my college housemates. Because, at first, they all refused to believe I’d never done it. And then, after assuring them that I hadn’t, they peer-pressured me into immediately departing the living room for the nearest bathroom for the explicit purpose of pissing into the sink. Didn’t matter that I didn’t have to go.

Which reminds me of the too-many times when the other red-headed housemate, very proud of his accomplishment(s), would barge into my room and shout, “Come take a look at this shit I just took!”

Once, when I was too young to remember, I led my mother to a collection of bushes on a playground; proudly pointed to a small clearing, and said, “Look what I made!” And, apparently, I was pointing at several stinky brown logs…


Anyway, excepting that one time, I’ve never again pissed in any sink. I don’t get it—though, maybe, were I a few inches taller, I would.

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