THIS HAPPENED TO ME
My Neighbor Saw My Bare Butt
And unfortunately, I saw his peanuts
“Auntie Rachie, girls have vaginas and boys have peanuts!” My toddler-age niece proudly proclaimed her newfound knowledge as I walked in. Surprised and amused, I wasn’t prepared to offer pronunciation lessons. While we’re on the topic of private parts, I’ll refer to my niece as Junebug, for privacy purposes.
When Junebug witnessed Mommy changing an infant boy’s diaper, her insatiable toddler curiosity led to a conversation every parent looks forward to — Anatomy 101. Mommy told her the ‘proper’ names. When Junebug so confidently translated penis to peanuts the adults found it so endearing we didn’t correct her.
My first glimpse of a boy’s anatomy was likely in the bathtub with one of my brothers. I imagine they’re thankful I have no memory of it. I do remember my most embarrassing childhood nudity encounter. I didn’t intend to go public with my story. However, when MuddyUm published the butt humor prompt I realized there is no age limit to an audience for ass-centric humor.
Fart, toot, poop, penis, boobs, ass, butt, dick, derrière— these words have an undeniable power to produce giggles and smirks at any age. They also have the power to get a person slapped in the face. It’s all about context. Humorists play with toeing the line. Sometimes we misstep and fall on our ass, sometimes we are the butt of our own joke. It’s all comedy.
On the day of the incident I was playing outside with a neighbor boy. Let’s call him Norbert. If he runs for president, applies to adopt a child, or attempts to join the CIA, I’d hate to be the one who revealed a skeleton in his closet. Publicizing the story of Norbert flashing his peanuts at a young girl — that’s not the kind of scandal I want to be famous for.
At the time, I had conquered potty training yet still lacked mature body awareness. Completely engrossed in sandbox shenanigans, I suddenly realized my bladder had reached a critical point. Sprinting to my front door and nearly tripping down the stairs, I desperately yanked down my bottoms and landed on the toilet seat just in time.
My relief was quickly replaced by the shock of realizing I’d been followed. Norbert was not only witnessing me pee — he was whipping out his peanuts! It happened so fast all I could do was scream helplessly as he peed on my lap. Technically he was aiming at the toilet, but the seat was occupied.
I couldn’t jump up because my own stream was still flowing. In reality it was over quickly but I felt as though I’d been trapped on that toilet for ages, held captive by bodily functions. Although we had both made it to the bathroom, one of us still ended up covered in pee. Wasn’t the point of potty training to avoid that?
In retrospect, squatting in the sandbox like a cat in a litter box may have been more sanitary. If Norbert was going to see my bare butt, at least we could have avoided the pissing contest. All my post-potty training life I’ve envied a clear advantage of male anatomy — the ease at which they can pee outside. If Norbert had done me the courtesy of peeing on a tree instead of on me, he would’ve spared me the em-bare-ass-ment of an awkward encounter.
