Brett Berk

The Gay Uncle was recently in Chicago for work, driving around the city for hours each day, and then spending even more hours inside the homes of average consumers, prodding them to explain how they make decisions–about EVERYTHING. Well, being in “traffic” in Chi-Chi allows for lengthy conversations, as nearly every destination requires an hour’s drive through endlessly repeating low-rise neighborhoods. (A friend of Gunc’s once referred to the Windy City as, “New York turned on its side.” The Gay Uncle prefers his own description “600 square miles of Williamsburg.”) But the commutes were great, only because the G.U. got to hear many embarrassing stories from one of his favorite colleagues. The mother of two boys–Adam, 9 and Joshua, 5–this woman is full of anecdotes. (Loyal readers may remember her from this piece, Room For Sex.) Apparently the other week, the younger boy was urinating, and though he’s fully toilet trained, when he finished, he somehow required a change of clothes. “What happened?” his mother asked. The boy shrugged. “I got pee in my underpants.” The mom cocked her head. “Really? Again? How? I pee all the time, and I somehow manage to do so without getting my clothes sopping wet.” The boy looked at her as if she has sixteen heads. “Mom. Everyone knows that penises are hard to control.” Gunc hopes he gets a new line before he begins dating. (Or summer camp.)