When Tom first told me we were moving to Montana, I didn’t take the news well. I had been keeping my fingers crossed for a base in Texas or Ohio so we could be near family. I wouldn’t have objected to Florida or anyplace warm, really.
“Is the Air Force trying to freeze us to death or something? What’s with all these cold bases?” I had fumed.
This is where we’ve been so far:
England (cold and bloody overcast half the time)
Wyoming (cold and windy)
Are you noticing a pattern? Because I certainly am. What does the Air Force have against sending us to a place where we can wear short sleeved shirts all year long?
Whenever Tom tells someone where we’re moving to they always toss us sympathetic looks. One guy even sucked in his breath sharply and went, “That sucks.” Malmstrom, the base we’re going to, is known for being small with nothing much to do.
Oh, I suppose there is plenty to do if you like to be outdoors.
Which I do not.
There is fishing, which I suppose I could try. But then my mind with inevitably wander and I’ll be like, “Lalala, is this fish ever going to bite and why oh why doesn’t Malmstrom have a Kohls around it?” I’m still in disbelief over that one. I’m not going to even go into the fact that there is no Gymboree or Toys R Us because it’ll just upset me all over again.
Tom reminds me that I can shop online but his Man Mind doesn’t understand that actually shopping in a store is part of the fun. He doesn’t get the thrill of pushing through clothes on a rack and getting to walk out with a bag of new purchases.
People camp in Montana because the scenery is beautiful. I don’t really mind camping but it’s just not my favorite thing to do. I’m petrified of bugs and bugs come with camping. Just the other day this grasshopper leaped up and bounced off my cheek and I started to screech, “The fucker tried to attack me!” while wiping my face off frantically as though it left behind a trail of piss. If I react like that to a GRASSHOPPER, imagine how I’ll behave if we come across a bear.
My patience is thin lately because moving stresses me out. I constantly worry that the movers will steal something—really, I could care less if they steal something of mine but suppose they take Natalie’s Gymboree clothes? Or all those toys I bought from the Target toy sale for Christmas? What if they take some of the Christmas decorations that I’ve been working so hard to build up? Suppose they break our furniture? I’ve been chewing my nails more often than usual which I know is a disgusting habit but I can’t help it. My fingers inevitably end up in my mouth as soon as I think about moving to a place I don’t even want to go.
Tom has been bothering me. He plays this computer game (Company of Heroes) online and he wears these headphones that he can talk into so he can communicate with the other players. I’ll be sitting on the couch, which is less than five feet away from the computer and I’ll have to hear him go, “We’re screwed…we’re screwed!” every few seconds. Then it’ll be silent again and Tom will suddenly yell, “There’s a sniper, there’s a sniper!” and nearly make me jump out of my skin.
Yesterday I had enough. I went over, lifted up one of his earpieces and said sweetly into his ear, “You’re bugging the crap out of me.”
Then we went to Wal-Mart and Tom practically went into convulsions when he saw the movie Patton.
“This is the best movie ever, I’m going to get it, it is such a great movie, things blow up, blah blah blah…”
“Fine, get it,” I said blankly. I suppose my voice set Tom off because he went, “Fine, I won’t get it,” and I went, “I SAID get it!” Then Tom grabbed the DVD and said, “Well, I do deserve it since I let you get that vest.”
“The vest wasn’t for me, Tom,” I sighed.
It was this vest:
And can you BLAME me? Is that not the cutest vest ever?
On the way home Tom suddenly said, “Oh, do we have Miracle Whip for my sandwiches at work tomorrow?” He had just bought some lunch meat and cheese at Wal-Mart.
“I don’t know. We have mayo for sure,” I replied.
Tom made a face. “Mayo. Gross! I only can have Miracle Whip or forget the sandwiches.”
Sometimes married to the Pickiest Man Ever wears on a person’s patience. Especially if said person’s patience is already stretched thin.
“Just use the mayo, Tom,” I said through gritted teeth.
“I don’t like mayo,” Tom pouted.
I threw my hands up in the air. “Well I don’t like the fact that we’re going to Montana but I have to deal with it, don’t I?”
That shut Tom up. He mashed his lips together in a tight line and drove home with his fists clenched against the wheel.
When we got home he asked, “Are you going to be like this until we move in November?”
“Probably,” I answered. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Then a few minutes later I felt guilty and apologized.
“I’m still getting used to the idea of Montana and I’m worried the movers will SOS,” I explained.
Tom raised an eyebrow. “SOS?” he questioned.
“Steal our stuff. It’s my code. So when the movers come I’ll say, “Tom, watch the movers so they don’t SOS,” and they won’t know what I’m talking about. Because if they hear me talking about being paranoid about them taking our stuff they’ll probably do it out of spite,” I said with a sharp nod.
Tom still looked confused. “You’re a strange one, Amber. But I like that you’re not snapping at me now so I’ll just let it go..."