He’s deploying for the next six months on a submarine, and that means I’ll have to walk myself home and pick out my own wine and get my own quarters for laundry. No more bills being passed over my head with a dismissive head pat. No more southern tinged chuckles (especially when I make an ineffectual swipe towards the check). No more bad date rescue.
Unfortunately, the US military seems not to have noticed that I DID NOT SIGN OFF ON THIS IDEA of sending him overseas (or underseas) and my raging disapproval didn’t seem to slow down Chip’s farewell party.
The boys certainly couldn’t be accused of not going in style.
The boy that walked me home after the party told me Chip had told him to be careful, because I was precious to him.
Well attention ports of call and fishies everywhere. You be nice to this kid because he’s pretty precious to me, too.