I NEVER go overboard with the homecoming attire (oh how I
wish this statement could end here.) However,
since this is homecoming number 632 (sarcasm, but not that far off base,) I
thought I’d spice things up a bit. Ha.
First mistake! I wore a black and while polka dot number with some sexy black
wedges -second mistake and covered up
the bursting cleavage with a cute crop cardigan buttoned up- gotta keep it PG ladies. I had my hair
and nails done in advance and arranged for a friend sleep over at the house with
the kids, as it was suppose to be a 0400 ceremony.
He calls me at 1230 saying they were leaving location X and
its only about a hour long flight so I needed to start making my way over to
the ceremony location, STAT. wtf, over.
The time ended up being bumped to a 0130 ceremony, which
totally messed up my time management planning. This should have been a sign
that things were not going to go as I had hoped.
So I jump up out of bed (was trying to get a little pregame
rest) and quickly got dressed, put on a little make up, flipped my hair over in
hopes of bringing some life and bounce back to the curls, then darted out the
door. I stopped in the lobby to talk to
the hotel receptionist for a minute, verifying that I’m not actually a
prostitute leaving all dolled up at 1am even though I will be returning with a
man. She laughed. I needed a little lighthearted humor.
By the time I made it to the ceremony location the parking
lot was FULL. Was I the last to be informed of the time change? Man, I miss the
good old days of FRG leaders actually making it their duty to make sure everyone
knows where to go and called with time changes. Here in 2013 we have to click
refresh on Internet browser to see if the webpage has been updated with
changes, which it rarely is. So I parked my car, give my lips a little color,
tried to tame the now unruly bedhead curls, and I took off in almost a sprint- clearly forgetting I went sans flats this
time. Immediately I caught a rock awkwardly with my heel and twisted my
ankle. Twisted my fucking ankle and fall
in the parking lot at 0130, skinning up my knee a bit on the loose gravel.
I was mortified, crushed, humiliated to the max! How could I forget I was 4
inches taller than normal?
With all the courage I could muster, I stood up, brushed
myself off, and gingerly headed to the gate with a conspicuous limp. My ankle, now
very weak, wobbling, and throbbing, my knee scraped and bleeding, my pride
depleted.
I trudged forward.
I had a man to watch exit the plane, signifying the end of a
deployment. I am determined to walk it off and not let the throbbing pain interfere.
Just as I’m approaching the building, my ankle gave out. It completely gave out
on me with no advance notice. There I go, falling again, only this time in
front of some 4 soldiers on redeployment bag detail. At this point, it was all I could do not to
bust out in tears. My ankle is the size of a engorged orange, all pride and
self-confidence – shattered. I just wanted to get my man and leave. And that’s
exactly what I did. I took off those beautiful godforsaken damn shoes, waited
patently for him to find me, we both got a good laugh out of my misfortune, and
he helped me back to the car.
All the pain and embarrassment I had endured was nothing
compared to finally feeling whole again. My partner in crime is back from another
deployment. My heart is happy.
Apparently this should be my theme song...
Apparently this should be my theme song...
