It was a common term while growing up in my household. None of us could be sure quite what a squash was, but we knew it needed to be washed, and often. Mom would herd us into our respective bathrooms to prep for cleansing, and then, we would go about our business as usual.
When I got married, I brought the inherited mystery into my relationship. I urged my spouse to go wash his squash after a long run. Perplexed at best, he does it (one of the many reasons I love him). And then we got into a debate about what the squash really and truly is. I felt like I was losing my identity when I couldn’t claim an obvious ‘squash’ on my own body. Was it really a male term? Had I experienced gender confusion clear up until my adult life? We put it to bed after examining it from all angles.
The squash will forever be a mystery. But, it will forever be clean.