It is advised that women of a refined sensibility read no further. Just saying. Now that I have their undivided attention too, I must address a matter hitherto never spoken of before by men – or women, to the best of my knowledge – but which has been experienced by all of my gender at one time or another.
Even still, I venture on the subject with some reservation. But, in keeping with this newspaper’s tradition of ground-breaking journalism, its proud investigative record and the penchant of its reporters to go where no journalist has gone before, it is appropriate I expose in these pages that which stubbornly resists exposure.
I refer to that embarrassing struggle every man must undertake when nature calls, shrilly, and it is very cold, even Baltic, outside.
There is no question of abandoning the struggle as the choice is between digging in to drag out the (sometimes) devil buried deep within or a terrifying eruption of snotgreen (to choose a Joycean adjective in this most appropriate month/year) pee which could drown those parts rarely reached even by Heineken.
This can be acutely embarrassing in a public toilet situation where the deep reach inside can be so easily misunderstood, and not least when it must be repeated. Of necessity. But, it is hoped, most other men would understand as few have not themselves had to experience what can be a most uneven struggle, accentuated by urgency and the acute awareness that time is running out.
Rapidly.
It is one of the great wonders of male experience – emotionally, psychologically, physiologically – that this most masculine of organs is such a determined coward when confronted with any cold.
It retreats to such depths that, viewed from the outside (if one dared!), there would be little visible evidence to prove its existence at all. Even for the probability of its existence. Even as Thomas Aquinas managed six such proofs for the probable existence of an invisible God.
Indeed, it can be similar with its two most loyal partners also who, when the temperature reaches towards brass monkey levels, retreat faster than a government presented with its own election manifesto. They, however, never quite disappear. A bit like said government which, too, remains shy.
It’s not easy being us.
Shy, from Old English sceoh. For "timid", "shrinking from contact".
inaword@irishtimes.com
