A Good Service For Those In Service

(I met my wife while overseas. We were both deployed with an infantry company, one of the only times that’s ever happened, so we have a unique outlook on things. We’re both in uniform, and she outranks me. I’m 6 ft, 220, while she’s 5’4 and 115, blonde and very pretty. We are rehashing a particularly disturbing point of our careers.)

Random stranger: *to me, while in uniform* “Thank you, sir for serving our country. And you, lil’ miss, must be awful proud of him!”

Wife: *in an awful accent* “Well just bless your heart, thank you! Here I was, reminiscing about the time we got in that fire fight. The time we earned our combat action badges at the same time, and I had completely forgotten that I should be barefoot in the kitchen!”

Random stranger: “Well, I know you ladies don’t actually fight the battles; you’re more of a support role. No offense meant.”

Wife: “Support role?”

(She breaks into a long rant of ‘Full Metal Jacket’ calibre material. The stranger leaves, head hanging. The restaurant patrons are staring.)

Waitress: “We’re going to make sure your dinner’s free ma’am. Thank you for your service.”

Me: “I love you, beautiful, but stop scaring people.”

(I actually had to pay for my meal; they comped hers.)