America's Favorite Birthday Party

The Marine Corps Ball is tonight. Again. Ugh.

I don't know if I can stand one more of these grasp-at-glory gatherings of egomaniacal man-children. I don't know if I can look pretty and smile, all night long listening to a drunken cageful of beefy gorillas parrot the ubiquitous invocations of Archibald Henderson and Chesty Friggin' Puller! "Ooohrah" this and "oohrah" that...

Mom told me I should have married Arnie. "Get a good husband," she said. "Arnie's a mathematician! He's gonna build skyscrapers!" Reminding her that mathematicians and engineers weren't the same thing did nothing to discourage her, though did it? Nope—not dear, concerned Katherine Femwick! "Mathematicians don't get killed by the Russians!" Reminding her the Cold War had been over for the better part of a decade was equally ineffective in stopping that line of outdated rhetoric, too, though. "He's gonna be rich!"

Fine, she got one right. Arnie certainly is rich, now. And he's only obliged to attend parties he wants to attend, to make comments he wants to make. Meanwhile, I have to go on the Armed Forces Radio to remind everyone we're "a proud two hundred forty nine years old!" Yeah, and who gives a crap?!

So, yeah—no to Arnie, yes to Julian "Mutt" McGovern, captain of the football team (and still holding onto that past glory, like being a Marine General isn't enough!) and poster-child for Marine Recruiters nationwide. Base to base. Deployment to deployment. Function to function—"the wife of an officer is the life of his career!" Ball after ever-loving Ball.

Ugh.

I really should have married Arnie. But how could I have said no to Jules? You have to admit: Arnie might have a ton of money, but nobody wears that uniform like my General!

Well, old girl...time to dance.

Ugh...

[300 Words]