It may seem pathetically quaint, but ever since I moved to Boston I’ve been keeping a mental checklist of all the milestones I’ve passed as a newly minted cityslicker (My next milestone goal? Stop using the term “cityslicker” unless it is to specifically reference Billy Crystal’s filmography).

Get yelled at by a dude with crazy eyes on the T? Check.

Get yelled at by an otherwise matronly, harmless-looking old lady on the street? Check.

Get kicked out of a bar for being too drunk while the sun is still in a fairly high position? CHECK (best Wednesday EVAH)!

Wait four hours to be seated for brunch (while sucking down five screwdrivers at the overcrowded bar and resisting the urge to stab slow-eating elderly patrons with a fork)? Check.

Get lost? Daily Basis Check.

Hating the Green Line with the fiery heat of a thousand suns? FUCK YOU!!! DIE!!! CHECK! AHHHHH!

And then there is the ultimate milestone, at least in my opinion. But since this is obviously a family-friendly kind of fucking publication, I’ll put it delicately.

This Tuesday, I saw a man on the street…ahem…draining the lizard. He was…uh…seeing a man about a horse…right out there in broad daylight. He was shaking hands with the president, if you catch my drift. Making his bladder gladder, know what I mean? Unleashing the dragon, fighting a fire, tapping a kidney, paying the water bill, right there on Washington Street.

Yep, for the first time since I moved to Boston, I saw some random dude peeing in the street.

The best way to describe the experience? It was like passing a celebrity on the street, but one of the gross ones, like Kim Kardashian. You don’t want to give them attention but it’s just too hard to look away from such a blatantly disgusting public act. And much like how Kim Kardashian often has a look of undeserved self-satisfaction on her face, so did this guy. We briefly made eye contact and his eyes seemed to say “Yeah. I’m doing this. This is happening. Shame is for pussies.”

Now, I’m no stranger to public urination. Hell, I myself have peed in many a cornfield/dirt road/behind someone’s beat up ’98 Chevy back when I lived out in the boonies. But the difference was, I always made sure I had at least some level of privacy when I drained the main vein (this was due less to me having some shred of dignity than my body parts being less equipped to drain in an orderly manner). So the ease and nonchalance that this guy exhibited while peeing on a busy street at three in the afternoon struck me with awe.

Which brings me to the point of this post. Thanks to 28-year-old Samantha Fountain and the Shewee, I too, along with the rest of the female population of Boston, can now pee whenever the whim strikes us. According to the official website, the goal of the Shewee (if you haven’t figured it out yet) is to help women “effectively urinate like a man.”

So how does it work? Oh. Oh, I’m just so glad you asked. Because there are step by step instructions:

How to Shewee*

1. Undo pants. Pull down the front of your panties or push to one side. Place Shewee securely against your body.

2. Direct outlet pipe away from body and out of pants. Be sure Shewee is positioned in an effective and comfortable position. Aim urine to a suitable place; into a toilet or away from feet.

3. Once relieved, pull funnel away and use to wipe any final drips. Shake funnel. Replace in resealable bag. Tip: Practice with Shewee in your shower to find the best position for you. (On leaving the body, urine is sterile).

*Actual Shewee instructions

So look out, Boston. Your population of public urinators (urinati?) is about to increase by one.

Shame is for pussies.


Freelance writer and columnist (fancy words for pretty much unemployed) and newbie to Boston. In her spare time, when she's not busy being pretty much unemployed, she likes to drink wine and write stalker-ish fan mail to Dave Barry.


  1. Pingback: Just a quick note… | Broke Wife, Big City

  2. T. Keeling T. Keeling says:

    I laughed do hard, I needed a Shewee. Thanks April, keep up the good work.