So, it’s around 2pm, my time. It’s Memorial Day and we have some girls coming over for cocktails and stuffed mushrooms before I do what all Yankees do today – fire up the grill. Wifesy and I did a little barbecue shopping for provisions, straightened up the “lodge,” and hit yoga.
This morning, as I laid in bed with Wifesy planning our itinerary for the day, I said, “I have to do my post today. When am I going to do my post?”
Wifesy said, “Just throw up some motherfeckin’ hot dog pictures. Nobody cares. It’s Memorial day.”
“Okay, Wifesy. That requires no effort. My blog is about writing. It’s about me accomplishing some writing, even a little bit, each and every day.”
“Just throw up some motherfeckin’ hot dogs. None of those motherfeckers are going to read it today anyway,” she responded.
“Okay, they’re not motherfeckers. I like my blog followers. What’s with you and the motherfeckin’ today? Who are you, Bernie Mac?”
Wifesy laughed. “Well, you said nobody’s reading this weekend according to your stats.”
That’s true. I did say that. But, still I wanted to write about something. I wanted to write a post called, “Thank You for Your Service.” You know, a post where I talk about how we’re always saying, “Thank you for your service” to servicemen and women in this country. Now, I think this is a noble practice. But, I don’t like how we say it as a blanket statement. It’s like telling everyone they’re pretty when they may not be. For example, that American serviceman who lost his mind and went on that Afghani rampage and killed women and children…maybe we shouldn’t thank him for his service. Just a thought. Now, I know, I KNOW, that Memorial day is about the servicemen and women who have died in the line of duty and yes, of course, they should be memorialized and thanked. I’m speaking about one thing only right now — our American “thank you for your service” tradition. Should we or shouldn’t we? Yes, there are some who should absolutely be thanked for their service…
For example: my friend, John — we SHOULD thank John for his service. John is a full-time nurse in a pediatric cancer ward when he’s not doing a tour of duty in Iraq. John sent Wifesy a burka last time he was there, as a JOKE because he’s amazing. John pays for so many meals for Wifesy and I that I have taken to calling him, “President of the Save a Lesbian Foundation.” John loves this so much that he took a picture of us recently to put on his fridge. When people ask who we are, John says, “his charity.” John is wonder-balls, which is even higher than amaze-balls. John should be thanked for his service.
The sh*t-faced guy who hit on Wifesy – non-stop – in the Buffalo Hot Wings chain while we tried to enjoy a margarita. The military dude who sloppily leaned on her while intermittently screaming out incoherent details about his service, maybe he shouldn’t be thanked…well, I actually did thank him for his service. On the way out of the place. Angrily. My voice said, “thank you for your service,” but my tone said, “feck you.”
I suppose my point is A LOT of people should be thanked for their service. A few people shouldn’t. Sorry, but that’s totally the reality. I also think there are everyday service people who never get thanked like our armed forces do and they should be. Today, I’d like to thank them. Here’s my list:
Uncles and Aunts
The guys at the car wash on a hot day
toll booth collectors
Today, I’m thanking Wifesy because she puts up with this blog. However, maybe SHE should thank ME because I clean the bathrooms, even though we both hate it. And when I wash the floors, I wear these (pictured below) to dry them. I seriously should be thanked for this because it’s both awesome and hilarious. I call them my “drying slippers.”
So, I suppose today I’m thanking both of us for our service. And I’d like to thank all of you for your service to this blog. If you didn’t read it, there would be no point – you delicious, motherfeckers. (Sorry, Wifesy’s words, not mine.)
In other words, thank you. …and here’s a hot dog.
Wait, that’s not original. That’s just a small dog in a bun. I have a better idea. On the way back from yoga, just before writing this post, I said to Wifesy, “I don’t understand gluten-free things. I’ve tried them a couple of times and they don’t taste very good.”
To which Wifesy said, “I don’t even know what gluten is, but give it to me. JUST GIVE IT TO ME.”
So, this Memorial day to thank everyone who should be thanked, I offer you gluten:
Goddamned, Blessed, American, Gluten!
Now, go and have a hot dog on a gluten-filled bun.
With love and Happy Memorial Day,
Sweet Mother is updated daily whether Wifesy likes it or not. To follow this blog, simply click the “follow” button above.
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