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When I was young, most people had bathrooms in their homes; sterile white lavatories, claw-footed porcelain clad tubs, and that all-important throne that flushed. Yes, just a little pressure on the handle and all traces of your deed would disappear forever. And privacy! Not one person outside the house knew you were doing your daily necessities. With that lock on the door, you could block out the entire world. Ah, privacy! How I envied those fortunate people!

We had a "little shack out back" located at the alley, as far away from the house as possible without being located in a neighbor's backyard, or across the alley where I secretly longed for it to be. That little outhouse, known far and wide as Mrs. Jones, was a source of embarrassment for me since all my friends lived in modern homes.

Outhouses, as a rule were thrown together in a fashion that allowed the air to flow through for necessary ventilation. Many times there were spaces between the boards that allowed a good 'peephole' for any neighborhood kid who happened by. Oh, the humiliation I suffered when I made my way down that path while the bullies of the neighborhood stood on the corner and shouted obscenities! There were times that my mother made my older brother stand guard in the back yard in order to protect my dignity, which of course was even more humiliating than the bullies' catcalls. Even my brother was embarassed.

Bathrooms were a sign of prosperity, and we were none too prosperous! The outhouse was an indication of our social standing, not to mention our social sitting. We were, however, better off than some. We had a two-holer, which meant you could relieve yourself while seated next to your best friend who was also relieving herself. We shared some of our deepest hopes and secrets with each other while visiting Mrs. Jones. Of course if you owned a three-holer you could invite another friend, but we were not in that bracket of society.

We were however, more fortunate than those who were forced to use corn cobs! For those of you who thought that was a myth, let me enlighten you. They were somewhat effective, but very rough on those tender parts of the anatomy. We, on the other hand, had a Sears-Roebuck catalog. I found that you could buffer the pages by rubbing two of them together. Not only that, they were much more effective that the cobs. We would get three catalogs each year: Spring and Summer, Fall and Winter, and the highly anticipated Christmas issue. The latter made good reading material

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