The Case of the Dastardly Belt Buckle

What goes through your mind when you hear hysterical laughter emerging from a single-stall women's restroom?

Most likely it took only a minute to think of several different answers.

Alright, now, picture that scenario again, but factor in this information: the Baroness is alone in that bathroom. Seriously. Go on - take more than a few minutes - give your imagination scope. This is the Baroness after all.

While I feel confident that everyone came up with something amusing (and would love to know what you dreamt up) - Louise, J.J., and I came up with some beauties of our own - I'll lay wager that no one conceived of the actual scenario that played itself out today.

Folks, what the good Baroness had managed to do this morning while getting dressed was to put her belt on backwards. Now, by backwards I do not mean upside down; nor do I mean inside out. By "backwards" I mean "straight-jacket-fastens-in-the-rear" backwards. The maniacal giggling was the soundtrack to her frantic attempts to reach behind her back to undo the buckle. This was a task made more complicated because one of her shoulders no longer moves in that direction and tends to lock out from her body at a thirty degree angle when she forgets this bit of trivia. So, there is the Baroness, thrashing about in the bathroom, left arm incapacitated, trying to remember from her stripper days how to skin out of tight jeans with one hand. Of course, she had never tried this stunt with the jeans belted on tightly from behind.

Finally, to the cry of "Balls on a Monkey!" she burst forth from the bathroom door and shouted, "Someone get over here and undo my belt buckle." Now, we didn't know what was going on at this point, but that was one customer's cue to step outside and smoke.

Eventually, having been freed from the belt trap, the Baroness reemerged from the bathroom, struggling this time to buckle her belt (in front this time). Throwing up her hands, the Baroness cried, "Sugar shit! I can't see past my tits! Somebody buckle this belt for me!" Well, J.J. took one for the team on that request (which is unusual as I seem to have permanently drawn the shortest straw in the universe where the Baroness and Major Benjy are concerned). Unfortunately, when confronted with the belt buckle, J.J. quite literally fell down laughing because now the difficulties stemmed from the belt buckle being upside down and inside out, though at least aimed forward.

The kicker? The Baroness was stone-cold sober at this point in the day.

Perhaps Eddie Izzard is correct in suggesting that fastening the seat belt should be a basic competency test for being allowed to travel on an airplane. Or, in the case of the Baroness, properly buckling your own belt buckle. Can't handle it? Oops ... not allowed out in public today.

Initiation Rites of the Brotherhood of Odocoileus virginianus

Are deer capable of waking up in the morning feeling suicidal? Or is there some sort of deer game akin to Paperboy? Perhaps they play a game akin to the driving game whereby you gain extra points for hitting pedestrians, small children, or other moving objects. Maybe they are playing some deer version of chicken?

I ask because this morning I had a close encounter of the suicidal deer variety. The only explanation that makes any sense at all is that it was a complex hazing ritual as a prelude to initiation into the Brotherhood of Odocoileus virginianus. I imagine the roadside conversation to have gone a bit like this:

Master of Rituals (MR): Hey, man, see that huge Montana Rail Link truck coming down the highway?

Pledge Deer (PD): Wha ... ? Montana who ... ?

MR: Oh, man, you haven't even learnt to read yet! This'll be great! I'm talking about that giant thing hurtling (that means moving rapidly, plebe) down that weirdly textured path.

PD: Yeah, I can sorta see it. It's a friggin' snow whiteout though ... I can barely see anything!

MR: Alright, well, walk this way a little. Okay, see that smaller thing cruisin' along about 100 yards behind the big thing?

PD: I can see lights! Pretty lights! What's a hundred?

MR: NO!!! Do NOT look into the lights. Never look into the lights - they paralyze you and make you do stupid things.

PD: But they're so swirleeeeeeeeee ....

MR: Snap out of it! Here's whatcha do - this'll be fun. After the big thing passes, you gotta get to the other side of the weird trail before the little thing gets here. That'll prove you're cool enough to go on our big adventure this morning.

PD: Okay ... between the big thing and the little thing ... to the other side of the path. Here it comes! There it goes! Here I go!

MR: Remember, don't look at the lights!

PD: Don't look at the lights. Don't look at the lights. Don't look ... WHEEEE!!!

MR: Whoa! Brothers, come check this out! That idiot actually made it across the highway between the two vehicles. I guess that means we have to let Virgil into the club. The driver of that second car doesn't look half scared, though!

I did not hit the deer, nor did I ditch myself. Hell, I didn't even have time to think about swerving.

Seriously, though, what is up with deer pulling those kind of stunts? It's not like it could have not seen the huge Rail Link vehicle. I'm going with the secret whitetail deer fraternity explanation; you aren't allowed to move into the cool den until you pass some spectacular rite of initiation.


Thanks to Deer in the Yard for the above image.