My friend is a rather old-fashioned lady, quite delicate and elegant. She and her husband were planning a week’s vacation, so she wrote to a particular campground and asked for a reservation.
She wanted to make sure the campground was fully equipped but didn’t know how to ask about the toilet facilities. She just couldn’t bring herself to write the word toilet in her letter.
After much deliberation, she finally came up with the old fashioned term, bathroom commode and referred to the bathroom commode merely as B.C. “Does the campground have its own B.C.?” she wrote.
Well, the campground owner couldn’t figure out want the woman was talking about. He showed the letter to several campers, but they couldn’t imagine what the lady meant either.
The campground owner came to the conclusion that the lady must be asking about the location of the local Babtist Church, wrote the following reply:
Dear Madam:
I now take the pleasure of informing you that a B.C. is located nine miles north of the campground and is capable of seating 250 people at one time.
I admit it is quite a distance away if you are in the habit of attending regularly but no doubt you will be pleased to know that a great number of people take their lunches along and make a day of it.
The last time my wife and I went was six years ago, and it was so crowded we had to stand the whole time. It may interest you to know that right now there is a supper planned to raise money to buy more seats.
I would like to say, it pains me very much not to be able to go more regularly, but it is surely no lack of desire on my part. As we grow older, it seems to be more of an effort, particularly in the cold weather.
If you decide to come to our campground, I could go with you the first time you go. Sit with you and introduce you to everyone. Remember, this is a friendly community.
For some reason, my friend declined the offer.
