“They’re safe Aggie.” Her husband Gene says. “It’s why we pay taxes.”

The correlation between safety and tax payments eludes Aggie at the moment because her childhood fear of outhouses returned, when she opened the highway rest area’s bathroom door. She’d needed to relieve herself since before they crossed the state line. Had she realized how basic the facilities were, she would’ve chosen to push on to her parent’s house—pain be damned. But now they’ve stopped, her body won’t allow her to pass on this opportunity.  

She knew her fear wasn’t logical or probable but lived with it ever since a camp counselor told a cabin full of little girls about the blue man who hid in the outhouse toilet. Legend has it he stabbed five campers, ten years before, in their “flower” and then disappeared without a trace. No one believed her except young Agatha, who was told to leave camp three days later when the counselor found she wet her bed.

“For God’s sake,” Gene glances over her shoulder, “Nobody’s in there.”

Aggie covers her nose and peers into the dank pit. A soggy, white mound, adorned with cigarette butts and crushed beer cans are the only things that greet her, accompanied by a vinegar scented chemical perfume.

“Might not be so bad.”

“What’d you say?” He startles her.

“I said, I’m fine!" She slams the door.

“Sorry.”

Unable to wait any longer, Aggie carefully pulls down her jeans and underwear and sits on the seat. Her eyes close as relief mixed with pleasure pours from her.

”Oh.” She moans.  

Taking in the crude poetry and even cruder artwork covering the walls, she shakes her head at the ridiculousness of still having this phobia when something grazes her skin. Aggie jumps up and peeks her head over the opening. Nothing. Calming herself with a sigh, she eases onto the seat and starts to relax when she feels a legion of needle sharp pains.

“Ah! The blue man got me!”

Flying through the door, Aggie hobbles into the sun, and twists around to examine her throbbing posterior like a dog chasing its tail.

“Oh God!” There’s a field of tender bumps on her skin. “He got me, he got me."

"Let me see." Gene says with mock concern.

“Am I bleeding?”

Aggie, close to tears, feels a pinch before she’s suddenly facing a writhing six-legged, crimson-headed, pincers snapping, monster. She recoils and slaps the creature from Gene’s hand.

“What’s that?”

“A carpenter ant. Must be a nest.” Gene grinds it to dust. “You’re lucky you only got a few bites.”

On the road, five minutes later, Gene giggles.

“It’s not funny.”

“Yes it is.”

She’s about to argue when she recalls a memory of him playing the game ANTS IN THE PANTS with his nephews. Aggie can still hear their squeals of delight.

“You suck.”

“I know.”  

Seconds later they burst into a gale of laughter lasting all the way to her parent’s house.