The Mr. and His Hooker

There comes a point in a marriage when the couple becomes….Comfortable. You’re not afraid to kiss each other with morning breath, the idea of him seeing you in your “period underwear” doesn’t rock your very core and he doesn’t run into another room to pass gas. -Even if you’re at the dinner table.- Once you’ve reached this point, the next stage in the relationship-the one where you will for example, extend the length of time between shaving your legs and don’t rush him at the door when he comes home from a long day of work,isn’t too far behind.

The Mr. and I have been lucky enough to push both of these stages back longer than most due to his constant deployment/training schedule the first ten years of marriage. (I kid you not, I counted it out one day and realized that of the first ten years of our marriage the days and months he was home with us added together totaled about three and a half years)  When you’re separated for long periods of time, as we were, each visit home is a new beginning. There isn’t much time to get “comfortable” when you’re relearning your spouse an upwards of three times a year.

Lucky (or not maybe?….) for us that all stopped a few years ago when he was given orders to a nondeployable, non “choppable” support unit. One of like 3 in the entire world. Now he’s home regularly. Yes, he still has trainings and schools to attend a few times a year, but 2-4 weeks away from home is nothing in comparison to 7 months gone at least once a year.

This has affected our family in many ways. For starters my kids worlds were shattered when, after asking when daddy would be leaving for his next rotation because he’d been home a month and a half were told “he’s not leaving this year”

“What do you mean he’s not leaving?! That’s his job!” they screeched. It took a good year and a half for them to stop asking when his next deployment was.

Yes. He’s had to learn school schedules. Attend conferences and go to every possible performance the kids have had since his return and he’s holding his own at each. Though there were a few bumps along the way. He’s come to realize when my monthly cycle is, how often I wake up in the middle of the night to make a bathroom run and exactly how many scoops of sugar go into my cup of coffee each morning. He’s also learned what can and can not be discussed before the pot of coffee is emptied

This comfort and understanding has been good for us. At least that’s what I thought. But then he left for a few weeks to attend yet another school somewhere in Washington State…..And some jackhole thought it would be fun to schedule his return from said training at 11pm on a Friday night. When his flight plan came in he suggested just leaving his car at the squadron so I wouldn’t have to pick him up in the middle of the night upon his return. I laughed at him. Told him he was crazy and there was no way he would get off that plane without me there to welcome him home. It just wasn’t happening.

Then he left. And somehow, the Gods (whichever one you believe in) decided it would be fun to torture me. Everyday. All day. The ENTIRE time he was gone. Military spouses have a Murpheys Law of their own. It goes like this;

“Shit will break. Kids will become sick. You will suffer a debilitating injury and the dog will run away. And this will only happen the day he leaves. ”

By the time his return from his trip came to be, I was so emotionally and physically exhausted I couldn’t stand myself.For the life of me, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken a shower, had no clue where my razor had run off to and was pretty sure that  I’d been wearing the same shirt for 2 or 3 days.

I told him to get a cab home.

By 9pm that night I was counting the ways I loved him and our children, our life really, so I wouldn’t high tail it out of the house the second he walked through the door. I felt dirty and bitter. Anger began to fill me as I envisioned his return.  After all, how dare he leave me alone to run this zoo we call our home and think for one second I would ever want to greet him, happily and lovingly at the airport when I could be spending that time getting the much needed sleep my body was screaming I needed.

Then a friend popped up on my IM. Her Mr. had recently left as well. But he was not attending some class out of state. Or on some weekend trip with the boys. Nope. He had run away to some other country far far away and didn’t plan to return for at least 6 more months. My bitterness towards my Mr. was nothing compared to the bitterness she was feeling towards me when I told her I didn’t want to pick mine up at the airport.

“Go get your man” she typed. “At least you have a man to get”

The seriousness of our conversation didn’t last long before we were teasing each other about all the randoms we were currently dealing with in our lives.Dark humor is the only survival method of a military spouse

“Shit” I told her. “I gotta share my bed with a boooooooy. I gotta shave, and keep myself clean. Cook meals and look pretty when he comes home”  for those of you that don’t know my sense of humor, this was mostly in fun. “UGH! This whole wife thing is SOOOO much work!”

“HA!” she responded. “You’re just an overpaid hooker!”

Those words sparked an idea in me. “Oh My Gawd!” I screeched -yes out loud and on the screen- ” I should dress up like a hooker and pick him up from the airport in a cab! We can make out all the way home!”

“Best.Idea.Ever” came across my screen. Followed by “Tell him I said ‘You’re welcome’ when you’re done ;)”

With that I set off on a mission to greet The Mr at the airport clean, shaved and dressed to kill. The entire time I was getting ready I was messaging my girls for support.  Messages like “OMG do I REALLY have to shave for this?!” and “I just realized I’m really old. There are NO hooker clothes in my closet! How does that happen?!” followed by countless responses of giggles and more dark humor sent back to me as I got ready  kept me motivated so I could finish the task at hand.

I didn’t show up at the airport dressed like a hooker. I’m not kidding, there are NO hooker clothes in my closet! But I did wear a dress. I did shave. I even put on some makeup. And when the cab got to my house, I was in such a rush to get out the door I left my shoes behind. We didn’t make out in the cab like I had intended. (we both kind of thought it would be weird with some stranger in the front seat…) but we did hold each other the entire ride home.

We didn’t speak. We didn’t look to our phones for entertainment. We didn’t unlock our eyes or our grip. We just sat there quietly, the exhaustion and frustration from our separation easing it’s way from our bodies as we drove home in our comfortable, happy, memorable moment. The wear of his absence disappeared with each mile and once again all was right with the world.

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2 thoughts on “The Mr. and His Hooker

  1. What a terrific post, you had me laughing half the time and feeling the pain and frustration you have towards his deployment.

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