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Last month my wife and I moved for the third and hopefully final time. Just in case there was a fourth time, I decided to look through some of my wife's boxes that hadn't been opened since our first move, and throw away whatever I felt she didn't need. My wife hates when I do this, but if I didn't we'd be knee deep in junk. So I set aside a saturday and started my task. As I suspected, each box I opened was chock full of items that my wife had no business holding on to; from old magazines, to no lie, at least twenty pairs of flip-flops, and the clothes, my god the clothes. Sure there were some things worth holding on to like photo albums, yearbooks, and movies. It's the box that contained the latter that provided the material for this story.

The movie box contained a lot of eighties movies on VHS; Dirty Dancing, Top Gun, the whole John Hughes library, but among all these store bought videos was a VHS tape in a plain box with nothing on it indicating what it might contain. Intrigued I set it aside until my chores were done. My preoccupation with the tape was too much however, and I abandoned the sorting in favor of locating a VCR. I found a very dusty VCR in the attic, and for ease of installation, hooked it up to a TV I had in the garage. The tape needed to be rewound, and I laughed as I waited for this now archaic procedure to complete. I had that anxious feeling in my stomach as I pressed play. I'm not sure why. I imagine it's because I relate the unmarked video casette with all sorts of perversion. It didn't take many clicks of the tape counter before I realized my instincts were correct. ...

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