Humor

A Girl And Her Septic System

The problem with living in the country (and there are a lot of problems, but let’s narrow it down to just one for now) is that you have to have someplace for your poop to go.

Homes in the country aren’t tied in to the county or city’s magical network of pipes and tubes and waterways that convey your poop to its final resting place in a sewage treatment facility, or “poop palace” as I like to call it.

In the country, your poop goes from your toilet to your back yard. That’s as far as it gets. And there are approximately one billion things that can go wrong in your poop’s short journey from butt to back yard.

Since I grew up on a farm, you’d think I’d know more about septic systems than I actually do.

But I didn’t pay attention to the details back then, and since we lived in a house that was well over 100 years old in the ’70s, I doubt the septic was much more than one pipe leading to a hole in the ground.

My septic system, even though my house is equally pioneer-like, has at least been somewhat upgraded. I have two (maybe three? I’m unclear) tanks. There’s an aerator in one and a sump pump in the other.