Shitter, outhouse, kybo, blue rocket, johnny-on-the-spot. Whatever you like to call it. I love a good outhouse. I know what you're thinking, "Are you crazy!? They STINK!" Well yeah, they do but that doesn't really bother me when I'm stinking one up anyway. I know a lot of campers, cottagers, etc. complain about outhouses, but I really do LOVE a good outhouse. In fact, I even love a bad outhouse, bugs and all. Introvert Dad thinks I'm crazy when I get excited about having an outhouse to use.
Avert your eyes if you don't want to read about poop. Don't be ashamed. As one of my kids' favourite books says in the title, "Everyone Poops." We all do it, and contrary to what you may think, your shit does in fact stink. Mine does too. When I was pregnant with my first baby, I developed a crapping problem. I don't know if you could call it truly constipation. I called it the curse of the monster log. For whatever reason, my bowels would only move every three or four days and when they did. Whoa! Look out! We're talking massively huge logs. Like I have no idea how that thing came out gibungous. I have clogged many a toilet, even the industrial types in office buildings and other public spaces. I think something in the prenatal vitamins contributed to the problem so I didn't take them in subsequent pregnancies. But every once in awhile, the monster log manages to make itself a home in my intestines so I'm never a fan of pooping in a public place.
Except in outhouses. Oh, sweet outhouse with a lock on the door. No one comes close because they stink and I can be left alone in my fortress of solitude (thank to Comic Book Guy for that one!). The best part is that you can't clog an outhouse. Nope, no plungers needed in the hunt for Brown October when there's an outhouse nearby. And like I mentioned already, they already stink so I don't care that I'm contributing to the stench.
And you know what the worst advice is? "Just eat more fiber!" More fiber was the last thing I needed, judging by the size of those turds. Or even worse, "Just take some Metamucil!" Whatever's in that stuff (psyllium husks, I know) just turned whatever was in my intestines to cement and exacerbated the monster log problem. Felt like I was passing a friggin" baseball!
The outhouses at the summer camp I went to as a teenager were the blue plastic ones you see on construction sites or at festivals in the summer. Man I used to love going in there right after the shit sucker trucks came to pump them out...smelled like bubblegum (until I was done anyway). Bring a book in there and you have a throne fit for a queen!
As an introvert, I like being alone and an outhouse is just the place to be alone with my thoughts and no one disturbs me. Too bad the city won't let me build one in my backyard. Not sure the neighbours would be down with that anyway.
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