Velociworld

Welcome To My Toilet

The strangest thing about the river cottage we had in Bluffton. The front door, which was technically the back door because it faced away from the river, but was the front door, because when guests arrived, that was the door you knocked on, presented the guest unto the shitter. Yes, as the host opened the door, you were greeted by toilet to the right, shower stall to the left, and only after one had traversed the bathroom did one enter the kitchen and den area.

I believe the person who built this little cinderblock monstrosity had envisioned that entrance to function as a pool bath. After exiting the river one could enter the bathroom and dry off without stressing the rest of the house. But it was the fucking front door!

Here's a rich Senator story. Legend amongst us, never spoken of here. My Cousin A---- used to spend summers with us, to escape her rather nosy mom, and she being of an age with my sisters. Quite normal, actually, and we loved having her. We'd have to reintroduce her to the Senator's idiosyncrasies each summer, however. Fer innance:

A--- awakened in the Bluffton cottage one night in desperate need of a pee. As the little place only had one bathroom (front door), nestled between the only two bedrooms, she ventured out of the bedroom she shared with my sisters to pee. She was probably 15, I add as background.

Now, the Senator loved himself a good piss when he was in the throes of Canadian whisky, so much so that he would ensconce himself upon the terlit (he sat to pee. How weird is that?) and have a good little nap, Marlboro butt a smoking in his limp fingers. This wasn't his normal state of nature, of course, he being a rather formidable and erect, stiff-backed sort of man as a rule, but of a weekend he could let the hair down, if a crewcut can do that sort of thing.

He could let the hair down. And so poor A--- left the bedroom for a much-needed whiz when she was beaten to the draw by the Senator, who was two steps ahead of her into the pissoir. She cursed her luck, but figured the boxer-clad uncle would do his business and leave anon, so she waited. And waited. Then peered into the bathroom, because the old man had no compunction about doors, or their purposes, when he was befuddled, and there he were, agently asnoozing upon the seat of ease.

She cursed her luck again, and lay back down, figuring if she could catch 40 winks she could pee in privacy.

And yet... and yet, I say, when she awakened an hour later and headed for the bathroom, she was greeted by the sight of the Senator stepping into the bathroom two steps ahead of her again, oblivious, Marlboro dangling from his lips, a dreamstate expression upon his face that could only mean I sleep well here.

Well, there you go. Poor A--- pissed in the yard, even as afeared of possums and critters as she was. Which is what I would have done in the first place. But nobody woke me up. I'd'a told them.