I am beltless, but I wasn't always without belt. In fact, just two days ago, I had enough belt to satisfy any pants predicament I might encounter. That is until some heartless mastermind of belt-thievery turned my world upside down.
You see, I am 6' 3" tall, but my waist is only 28-30 inches. Finding pants that fit is nearly impossible because though I can find the 34-36" lengths that I need, finding a 28" waist to match is just asking a little too much of the pants-making industry. So what I end up doing is buying the correct length and using a belt around the 34" waist that is much easier to find. This plan has worked since I was in high school, and there has never been a problem... never, that is, until that fateful day...
April 12th started out seemingly perfect. I woke up with a smile on my face and a little extra, much-needed energy as I noticed that it was 9:00 AM. I rarely wake up before noon, but since I got a full night's rest, it was a pleasant surprise to find out that I had several extra hours to get some overdue chores done around the house. I pulled myself out of bed with a smile as I thought of the extra time I would be able to spend with my family. With a little skip in my walk, I pulled my favorite outfit from its hanger and slid into it, planning out how I would spend this beautiful spring morning with my wife and two sons.
I treated my feet to a brand-new pair of socks, and my whole body warmed as their cottony softness caressed my toes. My brain tingled in excitement as I made mental notes of what we could do. Go to the park, have a picnic, play some ball... I reached for my belt while I planned. We could go for a bike-ride, or have a cookout-
Suddenly, my thoughts went blank as I felt my hand hit the top of the dresser.
My heart skipped a beat, and I closed my eyes in anticipation of finding what I knew and feared to be true. Slowly, I pointed my head towards the spot my hand was resting on, and with a long, quivering sigh, I hesitantly opened my eyes. My belt was gone.
The door to our bedroom burst open, and my panicked wife stumbled into the room.
"What!? What's wrong?"
"Honey, just step out of the room. Everything is going to be OK," I said, stepping in front of the dresser, blocking her view of my missing belt.
"What is it, John? What are you hiding?"
"Nothing! Just go in the other room. I'll take care of everything. It's nothing to get worried about. It's important that you stay calm so you don't upset the boys. Please, just go in the other room."
I could tell that she was getting upset, but at least she didn't know the full details of this horrendous crime. As she slowly backed into the living room, I played it cool.
"By the way," I asked calmly, "have you seen my belt?"
"Yeah, it's on the dresser behind you," she said as she shut the door.
Damn. That confirmed my deepest fears. Someone had stolen my belt. Quickly, I examined the rest of the room. Good, nothing else had been taken, but the frightening truth still loomed about. Someone had broken into our home while we slept and taken the possession that I used the most. Who could have committed such a cold-blooded crime? One thing was for sure: whomever it was had to be a man of great evil, and he was hitting me in the place where I was the most vulnerable.
Who would be capable of such an atrocity? Who would go to such great lengths to torture a man without cause or provocation? Who would have the skill or the means to pull off a crime of this proportion right under our noses without us even noticing? Then, it dawned on me. It could only be one man, a man with a heart as cold as stone and a soul as black as Mississippi molasses. A man with the time, the know-how, and the resources to pull off a hit with such silent precision. A man whose name is synonymous with evil:
Quickly, I snatched up the phone and dialed 911. A pleasant young woman answered, and I immediately began spouting information at her.
"I don't have much time. You must listen carefully. There has been a burglary, and I fear that my family might be in danger. I need an officer at (address censored) immediately. I have to go now. Please hurry!"
With that, I hung up and ran into the living room where my wife sat with our two sons, watching cartoons.
"Honey, there isn't much time. Take the boys and go to your mother's house. You'll be safe there."
"John, you're scaring me. What's wrong?"
"There isn't time to explain!!! Just do it now!!!"
Nervously, she grabbed the keys and snatched up the boys. Fear glazed her face as she turned to me. We locked eyes. I knew it could be the last time we ever saw each other. I tried to force the tears back, but she still noticed.
"I love you, honey," I said, trying to cover my horror.
"I love you, too."
Just as she placed her hand on the knob, two policemen beat loudly on the front door. Carrie jumped and glanced at me in terror.
"It's OK. They're here to help," I reassured her.
She stepped back as the two men entered our home.
"Someone call about a burglary?"
Her face dropped.
"Oh, John, please tell me you didn't."
"Yes," I told the officers. "I called. Hitler stole my belt."
"Dammit, John," sighed my wife. "Adolph Hitler did not steal your belt."
"Then where is it? Answer me that!"
"Is he serious," asked one officer.
"I'm afraid so," she replied. "I'm terribly sorry, sir. Until he gets his coffee and cigarette in the morning, he's not quite himself."
"Oh, I remember you, now," said the second policeman. "You're the guy who thought that Stalin used all your toilet paper!"
"No," I sighed, "it was Napoleon, and I apologized for that already. Will you please just do your job and dust my bedroom for fingerprints?"
"John, they're not dusting our bedroom for fingerprints. Hitler didn't break into our house and steal your belt. You just misplaced it again."
"That's what you said when Burt Reynolds smoked all my cigarettes, but you found out differently, didn't you!"
"No, John, I didn't. You smoked all your cigarettes, and you blamed it on Burt Reynolds so I wouldn't yell at you for smoking too much."
The officers glanced at each other in disbelief.
"So, has there been a burglary or not?"
"Yes," I replied. "This house has been the scene of a crime of Hitlerian proportions."
"No, it hasn't. John, please knock it off. These officers have much more important things to do with their time than to stand here and listen to this crap."
"I can't believe you," I sighed. "Adolph Hitler has been in our house, taking our belongings, and it doesn't even phase you. What if he had taken your blue scarf? It'd be a whole different story then, wouldn't it!" Then, a frightening idea occurred to me. "Oh, I get it now! You're in league with Hitler, aren't you! You're both trying to torture me to death! First, you help him steal the remote control, then, you move on to something that you know will hit me close to home: my belt! Officers, arrest this woman!"
"Sir, I think you need to calm down."
"Calm down, my ass! My wife and Hitler are plotting against me, and you expect me to stay calm!? Are you in on it, too!? Maybe I'm the one who should be dusting you... for Hitler mustache hairs!"
The officers began to approach me, caution in their eyes.
"Now, sir... just calm down. We're here to help you. We're going to take you down town to get a statement from you, OK?"
"No, you're not! You're gonna lock me up! You think I'm crazy! Well, I'll show you who's crazy! I'll stop Hitler by myself! I don't need your help!"
With that, the officers lunged at me, but I was quicker to the draw. If I were to stop Hitler, I knew I needed to make my escape now before they locked me up. With cat-like reflexes, I hopped onto the magic rug in front of our TV and shouted my goodbyes.
"So long, suckers! Ali-go-oop!!!"
Oh, no! There was something wrong with the magic carpet! It just laid there like an ordinary throw-rug, and I immediately knew I had used all of it's power escaping from Al Capone last week. I tried to run, but the policemen were just too fast for me. Before I knew it, I was being stuffed in the back of their squad car and taken to the station.
I'm currently writing this from the office computer I broke into while waiting for the shrink to come. We all know who he'll be working for. I'll be left to face the Nazis all by myself, just like America did in World War 2. I notice that the shift key sticks badly on this computer. Nice try, Mein Fuhrer. I won't be silenced so easily.
If you're out there and you know the whereabouts of Adolph Hitler, please tell him that I don't wish to press charges against him. I just want my belt back. There doesn't have to be any trouble. Just give me back my belt, and all is forgiven. I have to go, now. I can hear someone coming.
@ your surface!!