My Trail Of Military Mishaps

One of the perks I experience in being part of the Air Force world is the chance to go about my life with relative anonymity. Being married to a man who has a career that shifts us around the country every few years has afforded me that luxury.
Embarrassing moments that would normally stick with me fade away as we move onto the next duty-station. My calamity-filled life can basically be chalked up to learning experiences. One such mishap was my first foray into the world of squadron parties.
We were living in Minot Air Force Base in North Dakota and my husband, Graham, was a member a large maintenance squadron. During the annual holiday party the night’s festivities were capped off with a trivia game. My name was randomly drawn to be a participant. Unfortunately the game consisted of guessing how much different parts of a B-52 Bomber costs. I was (and still am) clueless to the workings of a B-52 and way out of my comfort zone. For once looking more like a sixteen-year-old instead of the twenty-two year-old I was became advantageous. Instead of cuing into the fact that I knew nothing about the aircraft, many of my husband’s co-workers questioned whether I was legally able to get married without parental consent.
Over the years I have had my share of incidents that left my husband shaking his head incredulously. I discovered that certain cereals should be transported to work in sturdy containers and not small clear bags. During a random vehicle search at the main gate at Minot a drug-sniffing dog found my Frosted Flakes which were now crushed to a fine white powder. Thankfully Graham, who was driving my car that day, was able to clear the up the confusion without a drug related inquiry.
As we dot our way across the country I seem to leave a trail of anecdotes behind. One of my children’s favorite mommy-mishap moments happened near our church on South Hill. On our way to Mass I clipped a sign. Although the sign stood with nary a scratch our passenger-side mirror was nearly sheared off. With little dignity I pulled into a parking spot at the church, placed my mangled mirror inside the vehicle, and avoiding eye contact, hustled the kids in for Mass. Two years later my children still call it the “Don’t Hit Me” sign.
I’d like to believe that my tendency to act before I think keeps my military, clean-cut husband on his toes. If anything life is a little more spontaneous in a world that is not always so. With that in mind I am tossing around the idea of pulling off a completely new persona for our next duty-station. I might go by Bubbles (Graham will become Lefty) and we’ll try to pull off a Scottish accent. If it all goes embarrassingly wrong it’ll just become another anecdote in my adventuresome life.