Dining Out

I'm not well suited for the role of "military wife." I hate rules and military bases have more dumb rules than a cub car rally. No walking on the grass. No walking outside with earphones in. No moving while the national anthem is playing.

Getting caught doing any of the above results in a lecture from a zealous 18 year old airmen. (Be wise and resist the urge to tell him he needs a Zanex.)

But one OK part of this gig is that every once in a while we get to go to a military ball.

This was actually my first and I've decided that ball isn't the right word to describe the evening. The food was bad, the speeches were boring (and generally offend my liberal sensibilities) and there wasn't any dancing. How they plan on keeping morale high without a getting everyone on the dance floor for spin is beyond me.

Also one of the commanders offered an invocation that went something like this:

"Dear God. Thank you that we are Americans and better than everyone else..."

But enough whining.

We got to dress up, which is a big deal when you've spent every minute of the preceding three months in stretchy pants and a sports bra. I wore my wedding dress and Mike wore a (mandatory) uniform that kind of made him look like a (handsome) penguin.

Sipping ice cold diet doctor peppers and watching season three of Sons of Anarchy on our ipad later that night was the real ball if you ask me.