Literal, Not Figurative

Dair was born and raised in a small western North Carolina town, and inherited the house her parents built there. The two original rooms of the house date to 1905, while the other five rooms, all of dubious quality, were added over the years and are in pretty sad condition. When she retired and sold her house in Atlanta, Dair purchased a single-wide mobile home and parked it next to the old house. At first, this was just a weekend place for her, but eventually she returned to it full time. Meanwhile, she deeded the old house to her son, Karl, and her grandson, Steve. When we first married, Karl and I spent lots of time painting and repairing the old place, and spent many weekends there. The house has no heat or air conditioning, so in the winter, Karl drains water from the pipes and fills them with anitfreeze. Each spring, the process is reversed and the house is liveable - sort of. Staying there is just one step up from camping! Last weekend Karl made his first trip of the spring to check on the house and cut the grass. He took Dair with him so she could visit her place and make the rounds with her friends. The threat of rain forced him to cut the grass before doing any other chores. While he was mowing, Dair walked up to Karl and handed him a washcolth she was holding, telling him, "Here's my s*it." Apparently she had decided to use the toilet in the old house, though the water was still shut off. Then realizing the toilet wouldn't flush, she had retrieved her load with a washcloth. Karl related the story to me later. I sighed and responded, "What a nightmare." His reply, "No s*it. I'm pooped after the whole episode."