They had everything.
The Papa Chair. The Mama blanket. The two Cub chairs. The inner tubes: one small, one large. Even tin cans emptied to serve as sand pails in the refilled beach’s rectangle.
What a perfect day!
The lake awaited, wet and cool. The silty mud. The pebbles, the weeds to wade across or pull.
They swam. They flipped. They raced. They flopped.
The hours passed. The contents of the picnic basket made their tummies nice and full.
They rested till the water once more called.
Then one cub disappeared.
“Nicko!” they yelled, frantic with the possibility of the awfulness that might unfold.
“One moment!” the junior responded from the direction of the small structure. “I’m not done.”
Relief was quickly replaced by wonder only to be followed by surprise and whiff of horror.
“Nicko??!!?” the Mama dashed across the small beach to stop what was already well set into motion. “That’s not an outhouse! It’s my changing room! Go in the bushes! Not here!”