Ah, Houston, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, Over?

You cannot make this stuff up. It reads like a bad plot treatment for a movie of the week.

Since hearing about this, I occasionally find myself in denial, sure that I had somehow imagined it. Then, I get worried:

Did I dream all that up? Am I just imagining things? Because if I did, man, I got problems. I got bad, bad problems that my insurance probably doesn't cover.

I oscillate between horror and giggling incredulity. The news is rather plain that it really happened, but my mind cries out, THINGS LIKE THIS SIMPLY DO NOT HAPPEN IN THE REAL WORLD! What the roaring purple Hell was she thinking? Was she thinking? That's what I'm secretly afraid of, that there was some sort of logical thought process going on, that it all makes sense somehow. Because if that's the case, I'm hopelessly screwed. Because from where I sit, there's no possible way that scenario plays out without somebody going to the Stoney Lonesome. But she thought it was a good idea at the time...

Criminy. She drove a thousand miles -- a thousand miles -- with a BB gun, some pepper spray, a knife, and a disguise. Plus, she wore a diaper, so she wouldn't have to stop on the way for anything.

That's the corker for me, the thing that sends my brain back around the track, giddy with shock.

To think that a plan like that would work, that it would come to a good end, requires one of two things: that (a) you're stupid, or (b) you're crazy.

I think the record argues against stupidity. Annapolis-trained engineer, Naval officer, astronaut; you don't get where she got being stupid. No, the only rational explanation is that she is, in fact, nuttier than a short ton of Almond Joy.

Part of me wants to know what the Hell she thought she was doing. Part of me is deathly afraid of finding out. The rest of me has its metaphorical fingers in its ears, yammering "I'm not listening, I'm not listening, I'm not listening..."

You simply cannot make this stuff up. Indeed, the world is stranger than we can imagine.