A Story About Why This Belt Frightens Me

Let's talk about this belt, shall we?

I am historically a belt-o-phobe, so my foray into belt-shopping is pretty recent.  I have had some icky luck with Anthropologie belts (I love my Snakebite Belt, even though the "Small" is too big unless I put it over a few layers...other belts were falling apart in the store...so pretty, yet so wrong) but I always check out the belt section to see if anything catches my eye.

And today, the little number mentioned above is the one that caught my eye.  "Wow, that is black, but could work for summer!" I thought, since I am not much of a brown person.  I am sorely lacking in the nice, non-hoochie, work-appropriate-yet-not-dowdy summer clothes department, so this excited me.

Until.

I zoomed in on the photo and saw a close-up of the braided leather hot mess that is this belt.  Why a hot mess?

Well.

I was in high school in the mid-90's.  This sort of belt was very popular among the guys. Very popular.  In fact, I had a boyfriend who wore a brown version of the braided leather belt, every single day. 

Sadly, I cannot recall the exact sequence of events that led to our relationship some 14 years ago. He was part of my current "hang-out" crowd, I thought he was cute, we talked, there was some drama with another girl (isn't there always?) and then we were dating.  I can remember that for high school, it was a fairly long relationship.  He was not the player type, not a pothead.  Probably a bit too much of a do-gooder.  That kind.
A little backstory: in high school, I was unbearably picky about guys. Sure, I would date around a lot, but I would always find something huge that made me second-guess my choices.  (Yes, these things were mostly just my imagination, as you will soon see.  Let's not psychoanalyze my delicate, teenage-girl personality, okay?)
When this boy (let's call him Timmy) and I first started hanging out alone, we were like normal (at least, normal to me, and normal for back then) teenagers--sure, we made out, but all in all we were pretty chaste and didn't see a lot of action.  I mean, we were what...16 and 17?  So sure, there was physical contact, but the clothes below the waist stayed on.  (Ugh, I feel kind of gross, like I'm writing makeout scenes for teenagers. Oh, wait.  They did that way back on Dawson's Creek, so the world has been desensitized to that already. *sigh of relief*).   A couple weeks in to the relationship, I began to notice a distinct crinkling-type noise coming from his, er...waist/pants area.  After a few days of freaking out, I confided in my best friend:

"I think Timmy wears diapers."

Sure, I look back and wonder where the hell my brain was, but come on--it was a very valid concern (to my 16-year-old self) and something I desperately needed to confirm.

My friend thought it was kind of funny, but helped me devise a plan--one that, looking back, could have lead to some pretty embarrassing confrontations.  You know, like grabbing his booty, laying my head on his lap while watching television, snooping...anything that would get me nearer to the knowledge of what exactly was going on down there.  I figured that if I were correct, I would find boxes of Depends, or feel something squishy when brushing against his butt...you get the idea.

Weeks of discreet butt-brushing, interesting head-placement during movie night on the sofa, and acute listening for stray crinkles, I figured out where that damned noise was coming from.

His belt.  His fake-leather braided belt.  The "strands" were rubbing whenever he moved, and the sound that the thing made when they all rubbed at once sounded eerily like the crinkle of a diaper.

I know. Laugh now, but back then, I was mortified.  And relieved.

And that, ladies and guys, is why I am terrified to wear a belt like this, no matter how cute it is.  I am freaked out by them to this very day.