My friend Puddyhead was putting the moves on a grandmotherly aged barfly in the parking lot of a dive the other night. He encountered a length of rope running from somewhere north of her navel, down around her powdery precious, and up her back.
He was totally flummoxed by the ordeal, as am I.
P.S. He desisted in Operation Grammy at that point for obvious reasons, hence the lack of closure on this compelling mystery.