We see not much. Then, we realize that we're looking at fog; fog, along with the sounds of water lapping and then a fog horn, from a big boat. The fog starts to clear and, just as we begin to recognize the dark outline of a freighter, we hear radio static and then muffled, authoritative radio voices:
"Roger, reading you five-by-five. Am aboard the 'Dust Bunny.' Negative on souls aboard. 'Have ships manifest, Dutch flags, and the menu for tonight. 'Looks like they were going to be having fish, sir. Over."
"Copy that, Sergeant Inseam. This is Colonel Cabernet, from the Canadian Coast Guard Vessel, 'Chuck E. Cheese.' Please prioritize searches of recording devices and go and see what's in the hold. I can see 'Dust Bunny' and she's riding low. Unless there's a breach, she's got a full load of something."
The sun breaks through the fog, just in time to see the top doors open over the hold. Several important looking men peer down into the massive hold. They shake their heads and then select a man from the sidelines to descend via a ladder on the wall. He does as he is ordered, and then returns with something in his hand. It's small. The important men look at it. They scratch their heads, almost simultaneously. Something is afoot. They have stumbled onto something big. Very big. The important man, more important than the others, speaks into his radio:
"This is Sergeant Inseam for Colonel Cabernet from the 'Dust Bunny.'"
"Inseam, this is Cabernet, go ahead."
"Sir, you're not going to believe this. Sir, the hold is full, absolutely full of belt loops."
Belt loops. I knew it. After all, they must be somewhere. And I believe this why? Because I have several pairs of pants wherein, somebody made the decision during manufacturing that it would be a good idea to forego the mid-back belt loop for either fashion, or economic reasons. There has to be a reason. It's too bloody annoying to happen so many times, just by chance. There I am, getting ready to step out for a night of fun, or to participate in the old 'Yorkshire Pudding ' toss down at the pub. Maybe I'm getting all shined up to impress some motivational speaker coming in to the local book store to promote his latest book called; 'When Things Hurt,' all about a sliver he once got, the mental sleigh-ride he had to endure because of it, and the mourning process he went through when he pulled it out a few minutes later.
Or maybe I just wanted to put pants on.
Whatever the reason, there is nothing more frustrating than reaching around to snake your belt through that mid-back loop and then realizing that, you've done it again; you've purchased pants with nothing but a clear run from the left-back loop to the right-back loop.
"Nothing."
"Nadda."
"Zip."
'What's all the fuss?' you may ask. There is nothing quite so disconcerting as, mid-way through an evening, realizing that, though your belt is around your waist, the top line of the back of your pants is sitting slightly lower than you would like; low enough so that, during one of those unconscious perimeter checks, you manage to tuck your shirt into your underwear, instead of your pants. And nothing says; 'I'm a moron' more than a middle-aged woman with that kind of decorum nightmare going on. It's horrifying.
...and yet it happens...more than you would like to know. So while, yes, the scenario described earlier may sound fictional, I think that somewhere, there is a huge cache of belt loops that didn't make the sewing table. And women all over the world are suffering; silently cursing themselves for buying the pants, and the Karl Lagerfeld 'wanna-be' who gave the order to ditch that back loop. It's something nobody talks about, and yet it affects more people than you know.
Belt loops; "Stop the madness."
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