The Unit has been gone (he works in Nigeria) for 55 days, and is due in at 9:51 tonight. It is time to get my freak on.
Last time he came home, I ended up in the hospital the next day (they are still trying to come up with an appropriate 'name' for him up at the bar). I went through several weeks of tests and honestly thought I was going to die, either by whatever had ahold of me, or by my own hand. It was THAT bad. Part of the reason it was that bad was that the prollem I was suffering from was severe headaches, which were brought on by ORGASM. There. I said it. Now, I'm not talking about a headache where you take some aspirin and go lay down. I'm talking baseball bat to the head full force every time my heart beat IN MY HEAD which was very fucking rapid as I had just had an ORGASM thank you very much. And they came back every time we tried to 'do it' (also when I did anything which made me bear down, i.e. pooping, laughing, getting excited). Now I'm all about living dangerously, but come on! I was avoiding THAT THING like it was the plague for almost his whole hitch home. To make matters worse, he left on our anniversary.
Now, we are not really gifty boys and girls. We tend more to buy ourownselves something and then inform each other what 'you got me'. And in the Unit's line of work, he is gone a lot so if said gift giving occasion falls when he is offshore, we just ignore it. But I knew he was leaving on our anniversary, and he had been gone for a long time, so I had prepared 'a little sup'm sup'm for him well in advance.
Several years ago we had been on a trip over to Mobile to the dogtrack and had gotten a hotel. After the races, we went to Waffle House for something to eat before we went back to the hotel. When we got back to the hotel, the Unit said jokingly "Let's play like I'm the Waffle House manager and you are the new waitress and I'm teaching you how to do your job." Now, I totally took this as a joke. Sure, we had some hot monkey lovin', but we do that ANY time he's shelled out cash for a hotel. If he spends money on a bed, there is going to be some boinking.
Anyway, this kinda became 'my line' when he was due home. At work I would joke about getting out my spatulator and getting ready for Mr. Manager to come home that night. I think everyone I worked with was positive that I was going home to whip up some waffles and flip him some eggs, if you get my drift. This went on for years.
When I realized that he would be home for our anniversary, I decided that I was (as a joke, mind you) going to get myself a 'costume' . I spent hours combing the internet, and thanks to Ebay, came up with just about everything I needed. I found the apron, the nametags, the service stars. I found the little kerchiefs and headscarves. My girlfriend Dar even managed to find me a vintage Waffle House coffee pot and mugs. The only thing I couldn't find was the official uniform shirt. So I decided to take it up a notch.
Alex had rehearsal in a town nearby, so I decided we would go eat at Waffle House that night and see if I could finagle a shirt that way. When our waitress came up, I asked her if maybe they might have an old uniform shirt in the back that they could sell me. She asked me what for, and me being the forthright person that I am, I told her exactly what I wanted it for. She blinked at me a few times while my son tried to slither under the booth (I stopped him before he got too much gum in his hair) and said to wait a minute. She walked over to the register and started talking to this guy (who turned out to be the regional manager) that was standing there with a little bit of pointing and gesturing. A few minutes later he walked up to me and said "Is this for real?" He looked around a couple of times, either thinking someone was 'punking' him or that he was being set up for a sexual harassment suit. I said "I'm just a wyfe whose husband has been gone a long time and I am trying to set up a fun reunion for him." He told me he'd have to think about it, and that he might be able to find me an old one but that he would have to rip out the tags and labels that said Waffle House. I told him nevermind-that if it were not the real deal, it wouldn't be the same, but that I would leave my phone number with the waitress "just in case." I even considered applying for a job, getting the uniform and quitting. But that would involve work. *shakes head*
About a week later, I got a phone call from him. He said he had gotten his hands on a used shirt that had a seam ripped that I could have. I was overjoyed, and told him I would come to the restaurant and pick it up. He did not want to meet there because he "could get in a lot of trouble for this" so he arranged to meet at A FUCKING CAR WASH. Wanna feel really dirty about something? Arrange to meet someone at a carwash to buy a USED uniform shirt to fulfill a sexual fantasy. Then, when I got there, he wanted to hem and haw and be all coy about handing over the stupid shirt (which still smelled like syrup). I felt like we were making some kind of crack deal or something. When he finally gave it to me, he said "I have one condition. When all is said and done, I want you to call me and tell me all about it." Heh. I'll get right on that. Perv.
Anyway, Unit comes home, we have two weeks of him walking around like a giant hardon since I was not going anywhere near Mr. Happy. When I was given a prescription for Inderal and could finally take a shit without wanting to blow my brains out, we very tentatively started trying to catch up on the luvvin'. By the time he was ready to leave, things were pretty much back to normal, so I figured I could break out the uniform for a 'going away' anniversary bop.
He was laying on the couch watching football and I hollered "Honey, could you come help me with this?" He hollered back "What?" I yelled "Just come help me with this!" He walked into the bedroom and his jaw dropped. His eyes got so big you'da thought I was decked out in a giant Budweiser bottle and that he was fixing to POP MY CAP. He even insisted on leaving the light on. (BTW-his only complaint? That I did not get HIM a manager's shirt!)
Unfortunately, like I said, he was leaving that day, and I have not seen him since. He did take a picture of me (and fortunately, I have not yet fingered out how to attach pictures to my blog, or I would feel compelled to share) and I know he is expecting "Linda Lu" to pick him up from the airport. We are getting a hotel near there, as it is an hour drive back to Moss Point and he doesn't want to have to drive back that late at night, so by my calculations, the earth should be moving at (pause whilst I cypher-1.8 miles from airport to hotel, fumble with room key, push up skirt...) *clears throat* approximately 10:10pm, Central Standard time. And again at 10:17pm (gotta give him time to drink a beer in betwixt, dontcha know). Set your clocks.