The Downside to Marrying an Older Man

Sending photos from Neal's camera in Iraq is a lengthy and complicated process. Because his "office" is secure, they don't allow any cameras. This means if he is going to take pictures during the day, he has to go back to his CHU, get the camera, take the pictures, drop the camera back off at the CHU, go back to the office. Then to send them, he has to return to his CHU to retrieve the camera, walk over to the Internet cafe (I use the term cafe loosely....like culottes loose), upload the photos, send them, and then drop the camera back off at the CHU before heading back to the office in time for shift change.

If your head is spinning and you are experiencing some boob sweat just from reading that, then you understand why I don't post many pictures. I don't have many pictures to post. But today I got about 20! Several are for another compare/contrast post (since my page views go through the roof when I write those. Not that I'm writing for page views...but y'all seem to like those and I'm here for you. I'm a giver like that).  And then there's the boys (and girls...for my male readers) of summer playing volleyball in the 120 degree heat. It is going to take me a couple of days to decide what to do with so much awesome.

However, today I must talk about how my husband is fast-tracking us into the AARP age group. 

A couple of days ago, I woke up to my usual barrage of emails...Pottery Barn is having a 20% off sale (I wish there was a spam filter that would only allow email from retail stores when the sale was 50% off or more)...The National Massage Therapy Board is warning me that my license is about to expire again (I know. Massage therapy is a great skill to know. I'm done with rubbing on strangers)...and I have been invited to join the VFW Ladies' Auxiliary.

Wait. What??

My grandmother was in the VFW Ladies' Auxiliary.

I think Neal has confused my recent blonde highlights with white. And yes, war tends to wrinkle both of us, but I am so not ready for the VFW Ladies' Auxiliary.

Come to find out, Neal has joined the National VFW. In all fairness, it's $35 for an annual membership. That's basically pizza and a couple of movie tickets. So, money well spent because I'm sure the dues help fund the work that the VFW does (which I support completely).

But we are about one PCS* away from squandering our Saturday nights in a smoky pool hall, ripping pull tab lottery tickets and tossing the losers on the floor. Neal will become bff with guys named Bud and Frank and I will talk about going to the beauty parlor to get my hair rolled.

We are half the age that Neal thinks we are.

But because I love my husband and I am all support-y, I became a fan of the National VFW Ladies' Auxiliary on Facebook. They aren't getting my $35 just yet. I have to know what I'm going into. Right now, they have 7 photos posted. Of those, 5 are stock photos, 1 is of a memorial ceremony, and 1 from what looks to be a St. Patty's Day party...where, had I been in attendance, I would have still been the only one who wasn't alive when Kennedy was shot.

I know the VFW and the Ladies' Auxiliary both do a huge amount of work to support our military and their families and my disapproval at joining them at the ripe age of 32 has nothing to do with the organization and everything to do with how many Friday nights I spent at the VFW as a weeAlly. I am all hung up on how I remember those evenings...or as much as I can remember considering all of the smoke hung at my 5-year old height. It all might have changed and I might be slamming the door on a perfectly good opportunity. Or I might just be postponing our chance to win $5 on a pull-tab lottery ticket.

If you are currently a member of a VFW Ladies' Auxiliary chapter and would like to share what you do in the organization, as well as if someone in their early 30's would enjoy being a member, please do so in the comments. I'm not above being persuaded in the other direction. 

*PCS: Permanent  Change of Station (or the fun that ensues when burly men driving an Atlas semi show up and throw all of your things into cardboard boxes, which are then driven to and dumped at your new home. Happens roughly every 3 years.)