That title was suggested by my good friend and favourite radio personality, Erin Davis. She's quick with the quip and it burst forth from her mouth when she read about my out house burning down during a hot summer day in the north country.
Here's the deal. Out house #1 was the old fashion, hole in the ground variety. Class all the way. It was a heritage out house, built around 1960. The builder, old Mr. Dawes, milled his own lumber so the wood in the edifice was first class.
In the winter of 2012, the chipmunks, squirrels or what or some such animal, ate the roof. So, there was no roof and the hole was full. What to do? Well, there was a guy down the road who would build and deliver a first class outhouse and since I'm an advocate of composting toilets, why not omit the hole and insert one of those, which we did.
One day, I was cleaning the fire pit and deposited what I thought was dry ash into the old hole. My plan was to tear it down and i wanted to make the job as pleasing and odour free as possible.
About 5 hours later, I hear a crackling sound, look up only to discover the historic outhouse in flames. Thanks to the valiant assistance from my neighbours, we saved the new outhouse and the entire forest from disaster. The local volunteer fire guys eventually showed up and doused the embers once and for all.
According to my honey, this boy from Bar River should have known better. I plead not guilty on the grounds of Attention Deficit Disorder (and if that doesn't work, I'll think of some other feeble defense).
Yes, it was not one of my finer moments.