The Little House (OUTHOUSE)

Ye Olde Outhouse, a pleasure and a curse to many ;-)

The Little House...out back
More commonly referred to as the...
 "OUTHOUSE"

 One of my bygone recollections
 As I recall the days of yore
 Is the little house behind the house
 With the crescent over the door.

 'Twas a place to sit and ponder
 with your head bowed down low;
 Knowing that you wouldn't be there
 If you didn't have to go.

 Ours was a three-holer
 With a size for everyone
 You left there feeling better
 After your usual job was done.

 You had to make these frequent trips
 Whether snow, rain, sleet, or fog...
 To the little house where you usually found
 The Sears-Roebuck catalog.

 Oft times in dead of winter
 The seat was covered in snow
 Then with much reluctance
 To the little house you'd go.

 With a a swish you'd clear the seat
 Bend low with dreadful fear
 You'd blink your eyes and grit your teeth
 As you settled on your rear.

 I recall the day Granddad
 Who stayed with us one summer
 Made a trip to the shanty
 Which proved to be a hummer.

 'Twas the same day my Dad
 finished painting the kitchen green
 He'd just cleaned up the mess
 He'd made with rags and gasoline.

 He tossed the rags in the shanty hole
 And went on his usual way
 Not knowing that by doing so
 He would eventually rue the day.

 Now, Granddad had an urgent call
 I never will forget
 This trip he made to the little house
 Lingers in my memory yet.

 He sat down on the shanty seat
 With both feet on the floor
 Then filled his pipe with tobacco
 And struck a match on the outhouse door.

 After the tobacco began to glow
 He slowly raised his rear
 And tossed the flaming match into the open hole
 Without a sign of fear.

 The blast that followed
 I am sure was heard for miles around
 And there was poor ol' Grandad
 Just sitting on the ground.

 The smoldering pipe was still in his mouth
 His suspenders he held tight.
 The celebrated three-holer
 Was blown clear out of sight.

 When we asked him what had happened
 His answer I'll never forget
 He thought it must be something
 That he had recently et!

 Next day we had a new one
 Which my Dad built with ease
 With a sign on the entrance door,
 Which read: "NO SMOKING, PLEASE."
DANGER! Explosive Gas
 Now that's the end of the story
 With memories of long ago
 Of the little house, behind the house
 Where we went 'cause we had to go.
 

Author Unknown To Me


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