There are no apologies for the title of this post. I'm a Navy spouse. We swear like sailors and for some very fine and appropriate reasons.
As of this post it will be exactly two weeks, one day, and 16 hours until my flight lands in Pensacola. The purpose of this mission is to retrieve one homesick spouse for a very fine and merry road-trip journey home. Finally.
The nice thing about having a loved one drive the family car out to a distant location is that you get to have a great road trip on the way home, if you're lucky enough to arrange it. My wayward spouse has done his time most professionally and academically in Pensacola, filling his brain at school with all the nifty tools of the trade necessary to do his military job here in Denver once he arrives back home. My not-so-classified job is to arrive on time via multiple airline routes, retrieve the spouse, remind him that life isn't just various shades of blue and gray, party hard and thoroughly, and to get us safely home in the family car. Roger that.
I swear to the gods and goddesses in any available heaven....this is the fortune I plucked out of the cookie bin after ordering tonight's Lonely Girl Fast-Food dinner at Panda Express. Yeah, you think? Panda Express has a higher ratio for being right than the astrology column of the Denver Post, so I'm thinking about making it a daily stop.
The dog-sitter is in place. I have neighbors picking up my mail and the paper while I'm gone. I've grilled the substitute teachers on all the coursework they need to survive my classes (and my frisky students) while I'm gone. I'm ready to go. I just haven't quite yet figured out how to fold time so it happens this weekend instead of two weekends from now. Please send all time-bending schematics to me at the Between Random Planets email, I shall be eternally grateful. So will all my loyal, patient Navy spouse friends who are missing their own mates over and over (and over) again.