My brother is back from Iraq! I am so happy. Over everyone, even my husband, he knows me. He knows where I come from. He knows what drives me. If I flinch, raise an eyebrow, sneer, clench my fists, purse my lips, drop my shoulders and hang my head.........he knows what it means. He can make me laugh until I cry, and use the word "Dude" way more than a 38 year old woman should. He says I am meaner than any drill sargent he has ever met and sweeter than most women.
Phew, and he made it back alive. Bill came back late last week but I gave him space to hang out with his woman before I called and demanded his attention.
So I talked to him tonight and asked how he was. Fine. How was Iraq?, " Well you know some of the citizens were dumb as a box of rocks but they were just doing their own thing. So you know, different strokes for different folks. ". Cool. Then Bill said, "But you know there were others and you need to keep this to yourself.".
Sigh...........ok fine. The really cool stories will stay with me, close to the chest.
The only stories I have to share, are something that everyone can agree on:
1) If your fingerprints are on a bomb, that if blown up will hurt people of all color, creed and gender, then you deserve to have the shit beaten out of you.
2) If you use an infant to try to deflect bullets from you, then after this infant is gently extricated from your hands, you deserve to have the shit beaten out of you.
Do you dare disagree with that?
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