Let’s talk about it. Let’s talk about how, as a woman, no indoor plumbing is complicated, and how, despite popular belief, the remote Alaskan town that currently houses my potty habits is also inhabited by a number of other women who relieve themselves without the convenience of a white and shiny porcelain throne. So what’s the big deal then? Peeing outside at 20 below? Sounds cold? Yes. But it isn’t exactly about the weather. It’s more about the clothing and the equipment underneath that can make this regular habit that we all participate in multiple times daily into an endeavor that occasionally leaves me crossing my legs in dread instead of relieving myself in the normal and timely manner that I was once trained to do at the age of two. You see, as women we have these things called periods. We pee sitting down. We need toilet paper because 20 below doesn’t exactly allow for the perfect drip dry technique that I practiced all summer long. We do not have an aiming device or a way of relieving ourselves without dropping trough entirely, which often requires the removal of layers of outerwear to then dislodge the clips of coveralls (expressly designed for men) and in turn lose the majority of our body heat while taking a leak as quickly as possible to avoid peeing on our boots (which still happens sometimes because of the proximity of our boots to the possible splatter zone) and end up shivering inside our insulating layers after what feels like a ten minute endeavor. Oh yeah, and that guy next to us probably just saw our butt because there’s not a tree in sight to cower behind. Or maybe we tramped through knee deep snow to find a suitable spot for hide and relief and now have an inch of melting snow in our boots. And then, the guy next to us turns around, unzips and pees without the normal aiming constraints of a toilet. Perfect and absolute freedom. He could even write his name if he wanted. Grrr. It’s moments like those that I feel a simultaneous dose of literal penis envy and strong feminism because there’s got to be a way to make this whole thing, this absolutely normal thing that people do all the time inside and outside, a little bit easier without me feeling like I want to attach a hose to my body. I’ve thought about this a lot (if you can’t tell already). I mean, peeing outside, no biggie right, especially if you’re following the norms of the the bearded lumberjack-ish Alaskan dude that often inhabits these parts. It’s the cold weather and the peeing while adventuring and the peeing while in town or when I forgot the toilet paper or when it’s the middle of the night or when I’m wearing ten thousand layers that I didn’t think about. I’m not even going to start on the whole period thing. They make these things called Go Girls that I have yet to try, like a little plastic device to allow ladies to pee standing up. Something tells me they don’t feel entirely ladylike in use. And whoever designed coveralls for women must have been a man. In fact, most cold weather outdoor gear that ventures more into the Carhartt realm of toughness seems to be designed with a very odd concept of the female body. New life mission? Maybe. As for number two, I have little to no complaints. After all, Mother Nature blessed both sexes with equality in this department. And thank God for foam seats and beautiful outhouse views.
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Meet ErinJournalist, adventurer, writer, musician, dancer, linguist, and cook, ready to tell you about her ridiculous attempts to live in the Alaskan wilderness without running water and live beyond the woods Archives
April 2016
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