THANKSGIVING QOTD

uncompromising,
who was the libtard female hostess?
if it was your sister or sil,write ’em off–
your mom,better apologize unless she’s ready for the home,your wife,flip a coin,your daughter,make up–

Tell me your funny story and I’ll tell you mine. MC. Oh, what the hell, here’s mine.

My son was born Nov 22. His due date was Nov 8 and to be quite honest, I had resigned myself to being bloated and pregnant for the rest of the year. Nov 18, I was standing in the commissary checkout line, called over the manager and asked if I might get taken to the front of the line because I was actually ten days overdue but figured I could NOT deliver the kid while getting groceries as miserably as moping at home.

He was one of those mamby pamby types and didn’t want to upset the rest of the customers. This was early in the 90s and pregnant was not supposed to be debilitating, but exhilarating, possibly empowering. That was the era that decided exposing the baby bump was very cute, but before women lost their minds and forgot that exposing the baby bulge into the final months was appalling.

The commissary manager, who was civil servant then I believe (I know they federal employee union at some point, perhaps, but I just remember his wrinkled shirt and bow tie under a visage sporting a ratty mustache over pursed lips disapproving my even asking for preference in line. I could see in his eyes that I just might have to bag my own groceries if he had his way.) So, he offered to let me sit in a chair near the front until my cart worked its way forward.

I agreed to the concession and asked the couple behind me if they could move my cart forward for me. They agreed and tossed the mambypanager a really dirty look on my behalf.

(You may not believe it, but many times I shopped at Tinker AFB Commissary near a holiday time and waiting in a line that circled the entire store before snaking its way into the real waiting line. For this particular visit, the line had begun just a few carts before the winding waiting line, which fed two bancs of registers. Yes, the savings on quality food and NO TAXES made it worth the waiting, most times.)

I’d only taken a few steps toward the bench when I heard laughter and clapping behind me, which caused me to turn. A very cool Chief Master Sergeant, in full dress (I think there was a leadership school graduation that day) had taken my cart and pushed it to the front of the line. When the manager walked toward him, the Chief (in those days men really were men) asked “Which register will she be going to?”

It is only sort of a Thanksgiving story, but a good one, I think.

The real Thanksgiving that year, Nov 24th, involved people travelling to see the baby and cooking the food I’d bought when the Chief taught mamby pamby a lesson in humility.

It also involved projectile vomiting by my tardy son when my milk actually “came in.” I was horrified, but my brother-in-law almost fell off his chair laughing.

Am awaiting a call from some nice folks in St. Louis. Is a discomfort not unlike being two weeks overdue.

Now, you tell me yours!