Pretty trees, huh? And we saw lots of them. I tried counting them, but I lost track at around number four. I have poor concentration skills. So we're driving along in the middle of Where's That Banjo Music Coming From?, and I decided I needed to pee. Now, peeing in the woods was out of the question because I was wearing a brown sweater and brown and white knit hat.
I'll bet you're wondering why I can't pee in the woods wearing such an ensemble, aren't you? Well, it's a long story so I'll have to save it for another time. No. I kid. It's really because it just so happens that it's deer hunting season here in the grand old state of Arkansas and I had no desire to go into the woods when I was dressed exactly like a deer. Well, not quite exactly. I had opted to not wear my antlers because they so did not match my shoes.
To make a long story even longer, we finally came across a "town" with the name of Fallsville. Fallsville. What an adorable name for a town. Doesn't that conjure up images of a place that still has the original General Store with worn wooden floors? And oh lookie, that sure is one swell looking soda fountain across the street, and I'll be darned if every house doesn't have a white picket fence and a tire swing in the front yard. Hey, whatta ya know? There goes Doc in his '49 Ford making a house call to the Brunner house, because Bertha Brunner is on the verge of popping out her 12th kid. Golly gee, I sure hope this one's a girl because 11 boys are enough. Hiya, Doc! Good luck on catchin' that baby.
Doesn't Fallsville sound like it should be quaint and oh so picturesque?
Well, it's not.
Fallsville seemed to be comprised of one establishment. A gas station. A gas station with some totally bitchin' circa 1973 gas pumps. And this place didn't have the usual array of junk food on the shelves. No it was kind of a gas station/flea market blend. A magical puree of junk and junk food, if you will. You could purchase a package of outdated cheese and crackers that was mere inches away from a gigantic, wooden, outdated chicken.
Anyway, Thomas asked if there was a restroom, and the woman behind the counter said, "You can use the mmmpph", and pointed towards the door. At first I could have sworn she said "outhouse" and I was all like no fuckin' way. She just didn't say outhouse, because it's 2007 and I know we're in Arkansas and everything, but outhouse?
But then Thomas looked at me and said, "She said you could use the outhouse. It's outside." So then I was thinking that by "outhouse" she meant port-a-potty or just one of those bathrooms that was on the outside of the gas station where you have to ask for the key, and the key is always attached to a four-foot long piece of wood. Because we don't want you to steal our key, and the huge hunk of timber makes for a good weapon should you find yourself being attacked in the restroom.
So I walked outside and I didn't see an outhouse. I did see a red metal building, though, and I thought to myself, "Hey Self, there's the bathroom". But then Thomas said, "See it? It's over there." And I'll be damned if he wasn't pointing right at this thing.
So for the first, and probably last time in my life, I peed in an outhouse. And you can bet your sweet ass that I hovered like nobody's business. In fact, I was tempted to just climb up on the bench and straddle the hole, but then I had images of me losing my balance and knocking over the outhouse and well, that probably would have made the front page of the Fallsville paper or something. And that's just not the 15 minutes of fame I so desire.
I do think it's lovely that they have flowers planted next to it, though. I may have to retract what I said about Fallsville, because I really can't imagine anything being more picturesque than flowers planted next to an outhouse.
I peed in an outhouse. Who the heck would have ever thought that would happen?
Babs - who may not have mentioned it but she peed in an outhouse this weekend. An honest-to-goodness outhouse.