Way back above, on apparently thought the only thing worse than a cold potty seat would be a warm one. I submit that worse than that would be a wet one. My mother, having been born on a small farm in some midwestern hills to a poor, Irish family ("We may be poor, but we're not shanty Irish!!" quoth Granny), took me back to the farm regularly for visits. I hated to go "out the back way" and necessity would make it happen to my chagrin. What I hated more than the cold biting my backside was the constant creepy crawly critters ever present. "The ants go marching" had to be about the outhouse, I always knew. And what's up with the foo-foo guys using toilet ROLLS?!? A real man used the long lost Catalogue of Sears & Robuck & Co.