STAND DOWN

Some battles never actually happen.  The following tale speaks for itself.  (I think I wrote this around 2009 or 2010, before my previous computer died.  Thank goodness I still had my printout.)

TOUGH OLD FARTS

            Waiting for my husband at the pub, I sat at a table with my club soda and lime, playing trivia with three keyboards, one using my name and two using my husbands’.  I wasn’t scoring very many points as I seldom guessed the correct answer.  The next question appeared on the large screen TV, asking in which war was the battle of Ap Bac.

            “Two,” said the man at the table next to me.  “The answer is number two, Vietnam.  I was there,” he said.

            I punched the number ‘two’ on my keyboard, and it was the correct answer, worth one thousand points.  Then came a break in the game.

            “Are you American?” I asked.

            “No.  I’m from here.  I went over with the Americans as a volunteer.  You could do that back then,” he said, as the waitress brought four glasses of beer he’d ordered.  “Hope my friend remembers we were meeting here,” he said.

            “My son’s a major in the army,” I said.

            “Canadian or American?” he asked.

            “Canadian.”

            “Has he been deployed out of country?” he wanted to know.

            “Yes.  Bosnia and Afghanistan.”

            He solemnly nodded his head that sported precisely trimmed silver hair and a goatee on his chin.  “It’s tough in Afghanistan,” he said.  And then his friend arrived.

            They started drinking their two beers each.  The friend began telling the soldier how angry he was with his wife because she hadn’t saved her gas receipts for their income tax return.  He ranted through his first beer and started slowing down somewhat over the second.  They then discussed the folly of living with a woman.  The next topic was how a mutual friend was being taken to the cleaners getting his divorce.

            The waitress returned and they each ordered another two glasses of beer.  The conversation turned briefly to gardening and then meandered back to the subject of their wives.

            “I’ve been married over almost forty years,” said the soldier.  “It’s not so bad.  At least Barbara keeps the paperwork straight.”

            The friend belched, and said, “I guess I could have done worse.  At least she does make sure the bills get paid.”  Then his cell phone rang and he answered after checking the number calling and telling the soldier it was his wife.

            “I’m just having a drink with Mark at the Dodger.  I’ll be home in half an hour, Sweetheart,” he told her, with a smile.

            Mellowed by their four beers each, they paid their bill and on their way out I heard the friend say to the soldier, “I sure hope she enjoys the vacation I’m taking her on next month.”

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By Lisa A. Hatton