In the late 1990s, when the Mr was doing a lot of short trips with "his" airplane, he overheard a conversation involving a pilot's wife that he shared with me. This was in the days before 9/11, so gate security was different then. With a sticker on the car, you could be waved through the gate onto base (not so much anymore -- now you have to stop and present an ID). One of the wives said something to the effect that whenever she was having a down day, she would go drive through the gate a few times, in and out again, so that the guards would salute her, and apparently this perked her up. Technically, they weren't saluting her, but the blue sticker on her car indicating that it belonged to an officer, but that didn't reduce the cringe-worthiness of her assertion. I was as put-off as the Mr was by this behavior, and I took it to heart as a lesson never to assume privileges in the military life that I didn't earn on my own merit.
With that in mind, I tell you that I ran my car through the car wash again this afternoon. I bought one of those unlimited washes with a monthly membership deals, so that I can go as often as I want. Two trips through in a month makes the money worthwhile, but I like going weekly if I can remember it. When I feel stressed out or achy, it feels as good as going to a salon and having someone else wash and blow dry your hair. It feels like being clean and massaged and hugged all at the same time to me, and I've caught myself going a couple times in the same week, just for the dopamine hit. In that light, I guess I understand what that pilot's wife was getting at twenty years ago, even though she was getting that stress relief in kind of an obnoxious way.
Tonight was the last night of my foster daughter's D&D campaign, before it went on hiatus. It was the second annual Winter Wonderland side adventure. Last year caused lasting resentment, between T and Mr S-P. No one seemed to remember anything that our old college roommate or I did in the snowball battle, but those other two have revisited the snowball fight almost weekly for a year. T was angry about how it played out, and even more livid once he found out that Mr S-P had surreptitiously taken a Ray of Frost potion that allowed him to slow T's movements every single round that he hit him. Tonight was the rematch. It was a little nuts. All T cared about was making sure that Mr S-P didn't win. That was accomplished. Our old college roommate and my foster daughter's husband tied for the win, I think. I came in last. And as he left to go back next door, T swore that next year he would be prepared to win. Good luck, neighbor. It's a game. It's just a game.
(I took this photo, but I don't own anything in it, except the TV it was taken from. Obviously, it's a freeze-frame from Elf the movie, and on Bravo, it seems. I get no financial advantage from this image. I was just up watching late last night, knowing what was supposed to happen tonight.)
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