Supporting The Troops Takes So Much Work These Days
Just like everyone, I support the troops. I’m proud to do it, but I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. For a woman like me who has lots to do and only so many methamphetamines to do it with (haha, what a kidder I am! I couldn't ever bring myself to buy those pills for $100 for a pack of ten from Barbara down the street who gets them from her son and it's weird but a silent understanding between them!), it’s just too much work.
(I feel like just saying that will cause my American flag bobby pin to just stab my smarmy old brains out, but crab flab it [is what I'd say if I was an old Southern prospector], it's true!)
I have to ask, was getting behind the boys so much work in the past? Did backing up our men and women in arms used to require so much careful attention to detail? Did Martha Washington ever make cupcakes like these? Did every cocktail she served come with a cute American flag napkin? Well, I don’t know about her parties but ours really back up the boys in Iraq and Afghanistan, and that takes more than remembering to put out the mixed nuts. And don’t even get me started on the 4th of July – thank goodies that that back-breaking holiday is over! I think I almost had a brain embolism from all the work and the pills I didn't take!
How I wish I were born in another era – there were times in our nation’s history when supporting the boys wasn’t so much work, and I’ve missed out on all of them. How much easier it must be to sew tattered American flags back together and clean them free of blood stains than put 50 stars in the frosting on all thirty cupcakes for my daughter’s bake sale. I could have been a colonial Martha Stewart! Why can’t I even be assembling airplane parts in a New Jersey factory in the 1940’s? No, instead I’m stuck in the future where supporting the troops means a never-ending barrage of bumper stickers and magnetic ribbons.
And speaking of ribbons, it’s no small thing choosing the perfect magnet for all the cars in the family – for my Range Rover I carefully chose the very personal plain yellow "Support Our Troops" ribbon just like everyone in my subdivision. My son, even though he’d much rather have one of those terrible "rock and roll" bumper stickers, has to have a "Support Our Troops and Fight Breast Cancer" magnet or he doesn’t get his allowance – I won't have an insurgent in my house, and especially not one that supports cancer! For my husband, I chose one of those ribbons crossed with the American flag, because he’s really, really patriotic and I know that he wants everyone in town to know how much he loves his country.
Supporting the troops isn’t only wrapped up today’s fashions and in baked goods – it’s a state of mind and requires constant attention. You can never know if you’re being subdued by the terrorist mindset unless you’re constantly vigilant. It’s forcing yourself to listen to the news report of 19 GIs being blown up by a car bomb of mass destruction when you’d rather be listening to Cruise-Katie updates. It’s putting on a sad face whenever a suicide bomber kills a Marine, when what’s really bothering you is the coach of your daughter’s soccer team not letting her score the game-winning goal.
Letting our boys down is not an option. We mustn’t fail, but darn it, it’s so hard! Every time I go to start the car, I have to wonder, "Did teenagers, bums, drug abusers, or even terrorists steal my magnet?" What would I do if they did? I couldn’t drive to the store to buy a new one, because if someone spotted my non-troop supporting vehicle, I might be put under arrest and taken to Guantanamo Bay for supporting the insurgency. No, I’d have to hop onto amazon.com or eBay and hope I could find a new one lickety-split, and be prepared to pay any price. It would also have to be delivered to my house in time for me to carefully and reverently open the box, ceremoniously affix it to my tailgate, and then still have time to make it to Curves without speeding.
Everything in your life changes when you decide to support the troops. Not that I would ever, ever, ever criticize anything that our government ever does, and especially not its fighting men and women, but I just wonder if it would be easier to be in open rebellion against our military. Maybe I should move to Iraq – at least I’d be able to sleep at night, and my frosting budget could easily be cut in half. But I’m only half-serious when I say that! Plus, who could feel safe living amongst Moselems? Those people scare me almost as much as, you know, black people.
Please, someone stop the madness. Those of us keeping the home fires burning are really doing the best that we can and trying our hardest, but I just don’t know how much more we can take, so please bring the boys back home. We have husbands and kids, you know, and if the pressure doesn’t ease up a bit, then I’m liable to doing something batty like planting a roadside bomb in my next pound cake, or poisoning my husband’s Tom Collins with biological or chemical weapons. But support our troops! If you don’t, you must be a terrorist!
