There is this contest. *points to title* Where you um, blog (on a certain topic) to win a book. Any of my blogging buddies reading this, go here: http://www.joshilynjackson.com/mt/archives/000468.html read it, and enter too!
So, the topic is military. Hmm, seems I just might have something to say on this one! I think I shall recount my tale of going to the Christmas ball for hubby's unit this past December. From what I can remember anyways, much alcohol was involved. Enough where at one point in the evening there was a soldier, in full dress blues, dancing alone to the song "Dancing Queen". Hmm, there goes the "Don't ask, don't tell" policy I suppose.
I knew a lot of bigwigs would be there, so I wanted to look nice. Meaning, not making it too obvious that I have given birth to three children. I have a great black dress, perfect for that sort of occassion. However, donning it, I realized you could totally see the roll. My fellow moms out there know what I am talking about. I had donned both control top underwear AND control top panty hose, but all that did was push the roll higher. And any time I leaned over, the roll would make the panty hose fall down and form a roll of their own! So then, in a stroke of brilliance, I ask hubby if we have any tape. I remembered something about models taping themselves flat or something, and if it was good enough for them, well heck, it's good enough for me! Hubby scrounges, but all he can find is duct tape. Hmm.
After standing there staring in the mirror for a bit, I come to a decision, and call hubby into the bathroom.
"Help me tape myself." I command him. He just looks at me, slightly confused. "Help me tape my panty hose to myself so they won't fall down, and I can look skinny!" I clarify for him. He looks at me like I just escaped from an insane asylum, but he obliges. I guess he has learned by now that when I get a certain look, it's best to just do what I say and not make any sudden movements.
So we get me all taped up, and I check myself out in the mirror. Not bad.
We head to the ball, and I am the picture of the perfect military wife. I'm charming, polite, and make my hubby look good. We eat dinner, at which I drink a couple glasses of tea. This turns out to be a mistake. After dinner, we are talking with some friends, and I notice that I have to pee. Bad. So I excuse myself to the restroom. On the way I meet up with the commander's wife. (Joy.) By this point I can barely contain running into the bathroom because I have to go so bad. I get in the stall, quickly lock the door, and yank my dress up.
I go to pull down my panty hose, and that's when I remember. The tape. I stare at it for a minute unsure of what to do. However, nature is calling, loudly, so I really have no choice. I begin pulling it off, trying to keep it as quiet as possible. And trying not to scream. I get the front half off, and reach around to do the back. When I get the back done, I realize the front is stuck again. The poor delicate skin on my stomach will never forgive me.
It's at this point I notice that the commander's wife has been hanging around long after she has been finished. I realize she is waiting on me. Ruh-roh. I wonder whether or not to say anything. Then the door opens and three wives walk in, and I know it's better for her to think I am really constipated or something. She finally leaves, and I finally free myself from the tape. Sweet relief, in more ways than one.
I discard the tape in the little trash can in the stall, which I'm sure made the person who emptied it do a double take. I decided that the freedom to pee was much more important than how I looked.
Besides, by that point everyone was drunk anyways, so it really didn't matter.
A picture of us that night, with me in all my taped up glory: