Conceited Blathering
Dominic just left for his squadron run this morning. I had said last night that I would go with him, but then I woke up this morning feeling like a wounded animal blindsided by a big rig and left to die a horrible death in the middle of a cold deserted highway, the vultures circling. Last week I did actually go with him on one of these runs, and despite the fact that we began in the middle of the pack and ended almost dead last and because of this were threatened at any moment to be trampled by the many big burly men with funny haircuts whizzing past, it was a good time, if you can look past the point at the end of the run where I lost all my faculties of not foaming at the mouth.
Ah, to be an officer's wife.
Which is actually something I'm going to have to work a bit on. You see, most of the time I'd rather voluntarily sign up for experimental medication rather than be sociable among a big group of people I hardly know. Also, Dominic always leaves me at some point during these social engagements to throw the football with someone who can actually do the spirally spinny thing because his hand is large enough to hold a football correctly, a talent I sadly lack. During these times, I usually freak out and stand somewhat apart from the rest of the group, looking around nervously and cupping my beer or soda and trying not to hyperventilate or break out in hives. This kind of behavior obviously doesn't make me very appealing, so most people tend to avoid me, except the super polite kind who make a point of at least taking me aside to gently tell me I'm foaming at the mouth again.
Okay, that's not true, but it's obvious this line of thinking and behaving makes me far from the life of any party EVER. Except for the parties with tequila, or vodka.
Speaking of which, my sister posted a bit of tribute to me on her blog. She did this after I pitched a holy fit because she had written something sweet about her family and posted pictures of everyone but me, even the cat. As I am the child most likely to be asked by strangers whether I was adopted this makes sense (in some circles I am even called the black sheep), but I stalked my sister's blog anyway and demanded that she post pictures of me on the internet. She obliged.
Unfortunately, my sister really knows who I am.
Ah, to be an officer's wife.
Which is actually something I'm going to have to work a bit on. You see, most of the time I'd rather voluntarily sign up for experimental medication rather than be sociable among a big group of people I hardly know. Also, Dominic always leaves me at some point during these social engagements to throw the football with someone who can actually do the spirally spinny thing because his hand is large enough to hold a football correctly, a talent I sadly lack. During these times, I usually freak out and stand somewhat apart from the rest of the group, looking around nervously and cupping my beer or soda and trying not to hyperventilate or break out in hives. This kind of behavior obviously doesn't make me very appealing, so most people tend to avoid me, except the super polite kind who make a point of at least taking me aside to gently tell me I'm foaming at the mouth again.
Okay, that's not true, but it's obvious this line of thinking and behaving makes me far from the life of any party EVER. Except for the parties with tequila, or vodka.
Speaking of which, my sister posted a bit of tribute to me on her blog. She did this after I pitched a holy fit because she had written something sweet about her family and posted pictures of everyone but me, even the cat. As I am the child most likely to be asked by strangers whether I was adopted this makes sense (in some circles I am even called the black sheep), but I stalked my sister's blog anyway and demanded that she post pictures of me on the internet. She obliged.
Unfortunately, my sister really knows who I am.
posted by Kate at 5:22 AM
3 Comments:
Kate, this entry totally made my day.
Uhhh, could you possibly grow a bigger hand so you could actually do that spirally, spinny thing with Dominic - and not have to foam metaphorically at the mouth so much, vodka and tequilla shots notwithstanding?
Well, geeze. You make me sound like a monster.
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