I’ve heard of naming your penis. I don’t really get it; it’s not a car, but I know it’s done. What I don’t get is referring to it in the third person, as if it has a personality. “Willy wants to come out and play.” Ew. That’s just wrong.
I know several men who tell doctor stories and refer to their “area” as “stuff” or “junk.” I flinch. “What should I call it?”
“Why? It’s my junk.” Ew. “Anyway, so the doc was touching my junk…”
Don’t do that. We don’t want to think of your penis or balls as stuff or junk. For starters, “stuff” evokes thoughts of the middle of Oreos, of a black grandfather with his grandson drinking whole milk listening to the sound of a twisted cookie. And, “junk” evokes thoughts of the trash heap from Fraggle Rock or Oscar from Sesame Street. Guess what? You can’t win with either. Oreos bring us back to roller rinks and Member’s Only jackets, and Oscar brings us back to the whole Big Bird Snuffalufagus conundrum. And there’s nothing seexy about an 8-foot tall bird that wears a propeller beanie hat, whose legs look like ribbed condoms, and who drinks birdseed milkshakes from Mr. Hooper’s store. Now, Snuffalufagus, on the other hand, had quite a trunk, if memory serves. Still, ix-nay on the unk-jay. There has to be a better word. I prefer “area,” which evokes a modern clean television show. I can deal with that.