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  • We had an outdoor toilet on the farm. It was at least 20 metres from the house. When I was little, but big enough to use this outside loo, I used to imagine my bottom was big enough to fit the hole in the seat.

    As it was, I used to perch precariously on the edge with my legs swinging. Each time I'd lean back just a little more to see if I could "fit."

    One summer's morning, I leaned too far back and my short legs flew out straight and my bottom slipped into the bowl.

    Trapped. I couldn't lever my way out and I couldn't twist or move. All I could do was scream for help, hoping against hope my mother could hear me!

    Thankfully, the door on our outdoor loo wasn't the locking kind.

    I don't know how long I was there, but it felt like ages. I think I might have prayed! I was all of three or four years old!

    To my utter mortification, it was my father who rescued me. He laughed and laughed and I was horrified. Horrified that my father had to get me out of my predicament. Horrified that he saw my bare bottom. Horrified that I had been caught trying to achieve the impossible.
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