Visitors from the world over flock to view Bermuda’s signature grass
And now let us adjourn to the idyllic isle of Bermuda. Named for the Triangle that ate inspirational aviator Amelia Earhart,* this birthplace of the shorts that gave meaning to the lives of countless East coast preppies during the late 70′s is an oasis of idyllicity in an ocean desert.
Life here moves at a slower, more idyllic pace. For example, the newspaper is called, idyllically, The Royal Gazette. The climate is relentlessly and idyllically mild. With the possible exception of bubble-and-squeak, was there ever a more idyllically named local dish than wahoo steak? And rapists are referred to, idyllically, as "culprits" and "prowlers."
Culprits? Prowlers? Surely not in Bermuda, the cradle of one of the South’s most idyllic lawn and hay grasses?
Mais oui! No fewer than six sexual assaults, wherein the "culprit" gained access to sleeping Bermudian women via carelessly unlocked doors, have taken place in the last few months. Police (reports The Royal Gazette), confronted with public outrage over a reluctance to disseminate to an increasingly bummed out citizenry useful information about this "spate of worrying attacks on women," declined to either apprehend or give a description of the "prowler," but finally consented to give the concerned gals some "safety tips."
"You should make sure your house is secure," reassured Sgt. Alex MacDonald, staggering slightly under the weight of this sudden insight. Idyllically, he advised locking windows, leaving on an outside light, and installing "peep holes" in doors.
The Bermudians heaved a sigh of relief upon discovering that controlling rapists is just a matter of lighting and peep-holing.
*UPDATE: Reader Carol astutely points out that Amelia Earhart actually disappeared in the Pacific. But we note, stubbornly, that she flew through the Bermuda Triangle en route to her doom, which Triangle is almost certainly where she contracted the bad juju.