Saying thank you

You know… It’s really nice when people want to thank military spouses and families during Military holidays.

BUT

All I’m doing is what any other military spouse does. The cooking, the cleaning, the wrangling of small children, the paying of the bills, the fixer of problems – large & small, at least until The Man returns.

And the spouse? HE (in my case) got to get up long before the sun is even THINKING of rising to deploy to some foreign country for however long he had to go, for however many TIMES he had to go, had to try catch me at the EXACT moment that I would be home to try to squeeze a WHOLE LOTTA CONVERSATION into a 5 minute phone call because other people need to use the phone too — OR not be able to talk to his family because something happened and they’ve cut communication stateside, wait for my trifling ass to send his care packages (which was at least once a week, without fail. And yes, I was the wife who sent contraband smut and liquor, along with spam, and baby wipes. Very much related: that shit gets expensive, yo.), he had to go out on patrol, and pretend like he wasn’t scared because I was pretty much a hot mess the whole/every time he was gone and he didn’t want to make it worse, he ALSO had to ignore the fact that he missed his family, and his friends because for him it was the only way to make it through that whole ordeal. EVERY TIME HE LEFT. He also had to watch/hear/read about his brothers in arms who did not make it home.

I guess all I’m saying is in comparison to what my military man does, I didn’t do anything. Shit. I won’t even give the bum in front of the Mickey D’s a dollar. HE was willing to die for his country. *I* just made sure his kids didn’t starve while he was gone.

As a military spouse, I have a more personal connection to days that honor the military. Because more than most, I know exactly how much they sacrifice to serve. And I won’t lie, I have a special place in my heart for all Marines. But if The Man hadn’t decided that he was going to be a Marine, I’d just be another woman who married her high school sweetheart. Instead of the woman who gets to bang a man in uniform, the BEST uniform. (Yeah, that’s right. I said it)

In Memorial to all of y’all who serve, have served and those that died serving: Thank you.

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Ask me no questions

I have a firm policy on advice: I don’t give it, unless you ask for it.

I will sit quietly with my unpopular opinion because ain’t nobody ask me.

I don’t often point out people’s faults. Ok, well…maybe not to their faces. Because anybody who knows me knows I will send you stealthy pictures of random people and their absolutely horrifying fashion choices. But if you ask me “What is my problem?” And then I tell you, DON’T GET MAD AT ME.

YOU. ASKED.

*I* know what my faults are: I have general jackassy behavior, I’m stubborn, I can be lazy about things that I don’t really want to do to begin with…Wait. We’re not talking about me right now. We’re talking about you. *YOU* can’t see your faults, because to you they’re not faults. BUT TO EVERYONE ELSE, YOU DO THAT THING THAT GETS ON EVERYBODY’S NERVES. And while I deal with it because I love you, it is definitely a thing that is not winning you any personality contests.

If you ask, AND if I actually told you, you should consider than I told you because YOU NEEDED TO KNOW. Because DAMNIT that personality flaw is irritating as fuck, and maybe you needed somebody to point it out to you because CLEARLY you don’t (want) see it, BUT if you had to ask, then YOU KNOW THERE’S SOMETHING.

Which, you know…may be the reason I went ahead and was honest (in a nice way for a change, and not my usual brutal honesty which it generally way more painful than it needs to be <— see? another one of my character flaws), and told you in a way that wouldn’t completely destroy you, instead of fluffing your ego in that way that girls will do to their friends by telling you, “Girl, you know bitches be tripping.”

Because sometimes it ain’t the bitches that be tripping. IT’S YOU. And sometimes, somebody needs to tell you.

That’s REAL friendship. Keeping in real even when you don’t want to.