In northern California, a farmer who is faced with a competition that leads to no victory, labels such competition a “pissing contest.”
“You let the water get onto my road and now I can’t get through.”
“You can’t get through because you insist on driving that stupid-ass rear-wheel-drive Japanese car instead of a real pickup.”
I would be able to drive my fuel-efficient, most popular car made in America if you hadn’t flooded my road.”
“It’s not your road, it’s half my road.”
“It would be my road if your Daddy hadn’t . . . “
You get the picture?
My husband recently visited South Korea, on business.
He had an experience there that was pretty dang interesting to the kids (both of whom are boys.)
Just as we were finishing dinner, it occurred to my husband that the most appropriate moment to tell the story had arrived.
Yes, it was about pissing contests.
It went pretty much like this:
I stopped at a rest area and when I went to the men’s room there were a bunch of urinals.
As you stand there, you see this screen in front of you, he related. There’s not much happening . . . until you start doing your business. Then you see these two characters who are . . . well, but instead it is coming out their mouths.
And I realized I was competing with someone, maybe the guy at the other urinal.
Much nervous laughter.
So then when you are done the screen gives you a readout of exactly how much you have produced and everything, with all the details.
The kids were holding their elbows in and giggling. I couldn’t finish my last two bites.
I looked at our dog, Natalie, the only other woman in the house.
“A pissing contest,” I said. “Really?”
“Koreans are pretty advanced,” my husband concluded.
“This is what happens when men are put in charge,” I said.