Perhaps someday, like the German soldiers in the story, we can round our little wooden box outhouses together to share our hand-written letters from the little girls that love us, while we crap for an hour and a half in them, grateful to be with comrades whatever the circumstances, while not being shelled.

It's hard for me to say that a life with laughter in it isn't better, so feel free, but beware of the blowback you so often spouted.