Hi Ho Hi Ho It’s Off To Command School I Go…

On Saturday, we leave for Command School.  What is that you ask?  It’s the school where we learn everything we need to know about being a commander’s family.  I say family, because I am learning it’s a family affair.  I know that everyone will scoff and tell me, OMG what a bitchy officer’s spouse, why don’t you wear your husband’s rank some more, eat some twinkies, and wear a short-shorts and a tank top to the commissary?!?  I say family, because I have come to the quick resolution that this a family affair.  I feel like I’m in a gold fish bowl, and there a bunch of people looking in, and asking themselves, “what’s she going to do next?” 

According to my mother-in-law, I’m going to completely and totally ruin my husband career.  She has already had a hissy fit the day before the change of command when I skipped a “mandatory” key spouse meeting to um clean my house to prepare it for 40+ people to come eat, and swim.  She also got pissed during that week we didn’t go to the beach.  Yeah, even though there was red flag warnings for rip currents, it was busier than hell, and we had both first communion and change of command.  We were going to haul her happy ass to the beach, so that four life guards could help her up when she fell on said happy ass– no.

Anyway, I’m making my packing list, my list of questions, and my list of things not to say. 

Pack List:

– Stuffy over-priced clothing commonly referred to as “business casual.”  All of which a few months after I purchased it was on clearance for significantly less than I paid for it– call it shopping fail.  Oh and don’t forget I will manage to stain every piece of “business casual” clothing I own.

– Heels I have yet to master walking in.  So I will end up screaming at my husband slow down you stupid ass, you think I can sprint in these things. 

– My real clothing, aka running shorts, sports bra, socks, and shoes.

– Make up, because what trophy wife is not complete without caking on pore clogging make up, which I will forget to take off, then I will go for my run, and it will melt all over my running clothing, and stain them.

– My running gear– I will pack far more gear to go for a run during this week of death by power point, than clothing I will actually wear.

– A notebook, my computer, my kindle, my iPad, my iPhone, and anything else I can secretly play Candy Crush, update my running journal, or check pictures on Facebook on while no one is looking.

My list of questions:

– What’s for breakfast?  What the hell is the matter with you I specifically requested coconut flavored greek yogurt and a tablespoon of chocolate chips when you asked what I preferred eating.  Don’t you know who my husband is?! 

– What’s for lunch? 

– After lunch, where the hell is the bathroom, because after eating this wonderful club food, I now have the shits?

– Supper?  You mean I have to eat with you people.  Do you realize how much of a social hangover I will suffer because of this?!

– What will get my husband fired?  For selfish completely selfish reasons– aka I have a mortgage and I don’t want to take my son out of school that he waited 6 months to get into, I promise I won’t do anything that will get my husband fired.  With recent events, I know it’s no longer boobs, booze, and bucks?

Finally what not to say:

– Just about everything that goes through my head when I meet new people.

– Star Wars anecdotes

– My service in the military and how I much I hated my asshole boss in the 91st Space Wing.

– Running New York City, and how I will kill my husband if he is not granted leave.

– My lovely experience at Minot, when the squadron commander’s spouse called me out for “making up Ryan’s diagnosis.”

– Any stories about my MIL, they’re doozies.

– Or anything to do with killer parties we used to have when we were Captains.

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