I never could enjoy the great outdoors. Albeit beautiful, I found it too noisy, too muddy, and way too itchy. I regard myself as a scrupulously clean individual. My nails are cut to the flesh, their soft pads untarnished by dirt. My hands are rigorously washed with soap, without a streak or stain. So when dragged out to camp in the wilderness, the world became alien to me.

It seemed as if there was always something to do: pitch tents, poke the fire, fend off incessant gnats. As it came to dinner, a small dilapidated tractor coughed its way towards the campsite, delivering cold pizza in featureless boxes. Regardless, it was time to wash my hands. However, the only thing around the campsite was an abundance of hand sanitizer.

No matter how much I rubbed or wiped, the soot and grime did not leave my hands. Abandoning all hope, I dejectedly munched on my meal.

My sour thoughts were soon dashed when a vital concern dawned on me: Where are the washrooms?

With my stomach satisfied, the cue shifted downwards. I heard groaning and bubbling as my bowels convulsed and writhed. I doubled over in pain, breaking out in goosebumps despite the heat of the summer night. Halfheartedly and broken-willed, I eyed the neat stack of lavatories. Waddling over, I creaked open the door of the green throne. A flurry of flies floated out, stunned by a wicked stench. It was almost as if they were foreshadowing what was to come.

My head poked inside the hatch. A rotten miasma poorly masked by the overbearing cheap smell of roses permeated the air. This wasn’t a 5 star luxury hotel washroom!

My intestines couldn’t care less.

Focused, I clenched my eyes closed as beads of sweat ran down my temple, droplets splaying into the dirt. In a desperate struggle with my lower half, it seemed as if my natural instincts were winning. A single tear forced its way out my eye. “Just dump and evacuate,” I reassured myself. Repeating this mantra, I swallowed a breath and breached.

Even if I had to lower myself to such terrible conditions, I had to establish a barrier of cleanliness. Laying down a triple reinforced cushion of toilet paper, I hesitantly touched down.

The ensuing five minutes were tantalizingly slow. My nostrils curled from the odor and my ears rushed with blood. A few horseflies zipped around me with vicious glee, ready for their next meal. I began to feel faint. The ordeal was nearing its end and I reached up to grab some toilet paper.

At first, I didn’t notice anything really strange. The second time I pulled down on the roll, my hand was tickled by something furry.

I immediately recoiled back, wondering if it was a figment of my delirious imagination.

A monster of a moth fell out, rudely awakened from its dark abode. It had decided to make itself comfortable in the enclosed overhang of the toilet paper holder.

At that moment, my heart was not the only thing that dropped.

“Oh s-” I exclaimed, expressing a word appropriate to the situation.

My insides went white with fear and I let out a scream. I lost all sense of rationale and clawed at the door. After fumbling on it twice to no avail, I realized it was still locked.

Pulling up my pants, I kept my gaze locked on the moth. Although off-balance, it was steadily coursing towards me, ready to take its revenge. Unbuckling the lock, I tumbled out and ran away, screaming gibberish.

I wanted vengeance. Armed with a can of insect repellant, I returned to take back my dignity. Busting open the door, I shook the can and unleashed its contents. Laughing maniacally, I accidentally tasted the toxins, coughing and spluttering from its bitterness. Alas, the moth could not withstand my continued assault. It teetered around and flew through the open door, signaling its defeat.

As it flew away, I closed the door contently. Finishing my business with the moth, I finally finished my own business, light as a butterfly.