Outdoor Plumbing

     On October 11, a cold overcast Monday in 1999, I was visiting my godson Adam and his family at their home in Springfield, Virginia. His mother and I spent the morning navigating shopping centers in the Washington area. After only one or two malls, I was wiped out. When we got back to the house, I crashed on the blue leather couch and took a nap.

       I awoke to Adam, not quite four years old, crawling over the couch. He wedged himself between my back and the cushions. Then, like a cat, he went motionless. Feeling his warm baby breath on my face, I opened my eyes. My godson’s face was about four inches from mine. He looked at me intently, guilelessly, hardly blinking. With consummate placidness, he asked, Do you have outdoor plumbing? 

       No, I said, I don't. I had outdoor plumbing when I was little, you see. But I don't have any now. Adam’s eyes widened. His mouth dropped a little. He seemed really interested in what I had to say. In fact, I rattled on, At one time, everybody used to have outdoor plumbing.

       Adam didn't blink. He whispered, What do they have now?  

       Well, I said, now they all have indoor plumbing just like me.

       Adam's eyebrows shot up. After a moment, he remarked with infinite pity, My sister has indoor plumbing.

       Your sister has indoor plumbing?

       I have outdoor plumbing.

       What do you mean you have "outdoor plumbing"? 

       Right here! He pointed to his zipper zone.

       I got it. Yeah, I finally got it. The little brute walloped me. I got that I was a nitwit. I just told this child I was a woman dressed as a man masquerading as a Catholic priest. Kid, I gotta get up. Adam dropped to the cushions behind me. Are you a girl? he asked. I didn't look back. Work it out on your own, bub.

(Image: Ikea)