On more than one occasion, whist ridding my bicycle or attempting a jog, I’ve heard a splash in the darkness. Each one of those times I fully believed I was about discover an exotic, aquatic creature. Sadly, I am always right, it just isn’t the kind of creature I was hoping for. And even though I should know better by now, it’s still a colossal let down when I get close enough to realize the splashing is just some village exhibitionist releasing his/her bowels into the local water supply. It’s tough to judge, because so many people here grew up conducting business this way, but it’s even tougher to do, at least for a bashful, inflexible lad like myself.
Funny enough, some of these same H2O offenders often extend me an invitation to bathe with them in the very same river (stream?) they’d defecated in; thank you, no. The idea sounds romantic and all, but once you take a look at some of these bubbling brooks up close and see what kind of goodies are floating in them, you quickly dismiss the idea and instead give thanks to the plumbing gods. I know I’m living a lie though, as I’m pretty confident the water being funneled through my bathroom PCV pipes isn’t trickling down from some snowcapped mountain. Where IS it coming from? I’d rather not know.