It’s a Military Spouse Thing . . .
When you are part of a military family, you move. A lot. And, eventually, you start to get a little cavalier about the whole business. You may not have all of your ducks in a row when the packers arrive. And then you learn the cold, hard truth–those packers will pack anything and EVERYTHING. Trash cans full of garbage, food sitting on the counter, the cat . . . You’ll just turn around and whatever you were about to grab will be gone– boxed, taped, numbered, and sitting on the truck. When we were packing up to move back to the US from Europe, I realized that the movers had put a butter dish full of butter (it was a clear glass dish, no mystery about what was in it) into a box of kitchen stuff. A box that was supposed to spend a month or more on a ship crossing the Atlantic and then sitting in a port. Like that wasn’t going to be a mess. How would you say, “Stop playing soccer on your smoke breaks and use your brain, Bonehead ” in Italian?
One of my girlfriends (who is also married to the military) sent me the link to this shirt:
I guess I'll finish my breakfast when I get to our new assignment. http://www.cafepress.com/jennyspouse.148273568
Despite the pain of moving, I love it. Because it means that my oven gets cleaned at least every three years or so.
