Worldrunner3's Blog

July 15, 2010

My Apologies to the Colonel, or, the most awkward side hug I’ve ever bestowed.

Filed under: Uncategorized — by worldrunner3 @ 1:39 pm
Tags: , , ,

Well, that got your attention, didn’t it?

I’m really trying to laugh about this. Honestly. If I don’t laugh, I’ll curl up in a ball under the covers and never leave the apartment again, not even to go to the pool; Kevin can do all of our grocery shopping on the weekends! (Yeah, right; kid would come home with boxes of Pop-Tarts and cheese danishes from the bakery, and we’d have no veggies or fruit in the house.)

Let me explain. Yesterday, some other wives and I went to an all-day-informational-extravaganza-session-marathon-of-ridankulousness that was focused on TBS wives. At the end, with my brain full to bursting with information, and my blood sugar level hovering just above the soles of my shoes, I was ready to get the heck out of there. Unfortunately for my stomach, we still had to listen to our guest speaker, Colonel A., who is the commanding officer of TBS. He was very nice (but as another wife explained it, “totally bad-ass”). After a brief Q&A, we had to go up, one by one, shake his hand, and get a “diploma” for managing to sit and behave ourselves all day long. Honestly, we only did that for 16-18 years of our lives already-it’s called school. Most of us already have our bachelor’s degrees, and some have their masters or law degrees. My point is, we didn’t get a certificate for every day we went to school and didn’t catch the girls’ bathroom on fire. To add insult to injury, we also had to get our picture taken with the colonel. I’m not even sure the man likes photo-ops to begin with; it was hard to tell.

From my vantage point on the side, I couldn’t see what he was doing with his arm nearest the wife who was getting her certificate. I thought maybe he was putting his arm around them. I’m a touching kind of gal myself, and have really no issues with patting someone on the shoulder, hugging someone if they look like they could use a good squeeze…you get the picture. When my name was called, I went up, made eye contact, shook his hand, and got my diploma (woooo….). So far, all was well. Then the photo.

For a moment, he looked like he was going for the reacharound side hug, so I did too….but he wasn’t.

It was a fake-out, where he tricked me by doing an exaggerated stretch of the arm, and putting it behind his back. Uh, well, crap, so here I am with one arm around him, he has both hands behind his back. I have two options at this point. I can either remove my arm, making an awkward situation worse, or, I can keep my arm there and act like I meant to do that the whole time.

I went with option 2.

So Colonel, if you’re reading this, (no shame if you are, I Google myself regularly and there’s no harm in it), I’m really sorry for hugging you when you probably were in no mood for it. I’m just a hugger. (Of course, if there is a merciful God in heaven, and I firmly believe there is, the colonel will never remember this even happened.)

The saving grace was that Kevin laughed until he couldn’t speak when I told him about it last night. I’m glad he isn’t mad that I side-hugged his boss’ boss.

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July 7, 2010

Um, no.

Filed under: Uncategorized — by worldrunner3 @ 6:40 pm

Yesterday, I had to run an errand for Kevin-he had a minor issue yesterday with the tailor at the exchange. Surprisingly enough, when a tailor sews name tapes on uniforms, it actually matters that the right name tapes go on the right uniforms. (It makes quite a difference to the wearer, actually.) When I walked into the tailor shop today to pick up the (thankfully) right uniforms, the man behind the counter, who is admittedly a rather tall, lanky fellow, said, “Man, you are SMALL. Ah, I’m just kiddin’.” We conducted our business and I went on my merry way.

But honestly, this time it felt different. Everyone has talked to those friends who say that they feel younger than they are (“I still feel like I’m in high school, how can I be a college graduate/a mom/somebody with real responsibilities and a life that doesn’t involve remembering a locker combination?”). I think I had that problem, but now I don’t. Maybe living so far away from my parents has helped me to feel and act my age. Which brings me to my point-I actually feel like enough of an adult, an officer’s wife, a paying customer in this shop, whatever, to say that this was not appropriate. It used to be that I would giggle and think it’s funny, but now…it’s not.

And when I got the uniforms home, they were still wrong. I had to get on the phone all day today and get it all worked out, and tomorrow after the spouses’ picnic, I’m going back to the tailor shop to get a refund. For the record, this was a tailor shop that is operated under the MCCS on base, so the manager above the owner of the store was very helpful. I saw that some of the searches for this blog are “Marine TBS”, so if anybody who is reading this is near or around Q-town, be a little careful of the tailor shop at the exchange on Mainside. I’m sure they will be more careful now, but we have decided that Kevin’s uniforms are going to The Marine Shop. It’s just not worth the headache!!

On a completely different note, anybody want to know what we’re having for dinner?

Ok, probably not, because you’re wondering what on earth YOU’re fixing for dinner.

Never mind that. Remember that you’re here to read my blog. Worry about your own problems out loud on your own blog.

Juuuust kidding.

For serious. I have mentioned my love-hate relationship with Hamburger Helper. It’s a real issue, folks. The convenience…the unpronounceable ingredients that make it not really food…the need to feed my husband…the need to feed us something good. It’s a stressor.

Enter real skillet dinners, that are just as easy as Hamburger Helper, but you know what is actually in them, instead of combining meat, pasta, water/milk, and the ambiguously labeled “sauce packet.”

skillet dinner

Yum: ground chicken, onion, tomatoes, garlic, basil, oregano, whole wheat rotini, and lots and lots of cheese. (When in doubt, melt cheese over everything.)

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