Houdini?

Being born exactly 100 years after the great escape artist, perhaps some of his magic was passed on? Bah, who knows, but one evening of drinking and talking to my mother, she told me of an interesting tale of my brief period of a nappy soiling goo goo ga ga.

We lived in Wellington, (or in it's vicinity) small house, front yard, back yard etc. Not much in the the way of furnishings, hey, we no rich eh? Anyway, mother dearest would put yours truly in ones cot, so that mother could get some relaxation time without having to worry that I was stalking a kettle power cord dangling from the kitchen bench. I swear, the 'don't pull' signs only encourage people to in-fact, PULL.

So, mum puts me in the cot. 5min later, TA-DA, I'm out and racing around the house on all fours like Ayrton Senna. (4 legs were still faster than 2 at that point in time).

Mum places me again in the cot, wondering how I got out and again, 5min later, TA-DA.

Mother closely examines my jail. Everything is intact and working normally. Mother is very puzzled. Cute 'I' are too fat/fluffy/cuddly/cute (take your pick) to fit though the bars, and I lack X-men mutant power of pass though solid object. Moreover, I'm too short and lacked the upper body strength of a rock climber to vertically scale the walls of my family imposed prison (and the comparative base jump from the top of the cot to the floor would definitely make a hell of a noise, both the impact and resulting waterfall from the eyes, not to mention I lacked the proper equipment to execute such a feat)

How the hell are you getting out, my mother pondered as yet again she places me in my cage. (cue, Soundgarden, break my rusty cage, and run)

Cue Mission Impossible soundtrack. Mother decides to go super spy, dashes out of the house, skirts the walls, and sneaks, SNEAKS (can't trust anybody these days) up to my bedroom window. She peers in through my window and waits. SPYING on me. Talk about invasion of privacy.

In the cot I lie. Biding my time to execute my master plan to yet again break out into the freedom of the hallway. Mother watches, patiently.

Lured into a false sense of security the baby 'I' do a 180, and head to the end of my jail cell. I grasp one of the bars in my chubby mitts, and begin to...UNSCREW! yeah I know, unreal right? Unscrew the bar! After a few turns, Houdini pushes the bar out, creating sufficient space for the master escape artist to squeeze through. But wait, the master is not done, oh no. He turns, pushes the bar BACK into place and turns the bar a few times, effectively screwing it back into place before toddling off into the hallway with a huge smile on his face.

Cue Mel Gibson "FreeeeeeDommmmmmmmmm"

Bugger me, I have no idea how I figured that out, but I also wonder how they ever figured out 'the death touch pressure point', trial and error? Hmm, how about here, 'bam dead', oh yep, that's the spot....

Taking matters into her own hands, mother procures a tube of superglue, fixes the so called problem (damn fascist, depriving me of my freedom). So the next time I try my little escape trick I am met with fierce resistance. The result, I remain trapped, mother gets peace and quiet, well...at least after I've stopped bawling my guts out and pouting that I can no longer escape.