the firing squad

Sid's Christmas party is fast approaching. I've decided that I'm not being nice: if any of the other wives want to talk to me, they will refrain from asking (yet again) about The Manson's Continued State of Childlessness. And if they are unlucky enough to want to broach the subject, I'm not afraid to tell them OH, MY KID? FLUSHED IT DOWN THE TOILET. HOW'S THINGS WITH YOUR SPROGS? I suspect I'll be the life of the party with a sunny attitude like that.

You know, in the military, having a kid really is kind of a status thing for the wives. It's the one thing they all have in common, the one thing they can safely talk about when they secretly hate each others' guts... so where does that leave me? I don't want to tell them if they ask, but I'm sure they've heard: it's why Sid was sent home early from that hurricane bullshit, after all. They know.

I hope to FSM they have the good sense not to open THAT can of worms at the fucking Christmas party. Because if they do, well, I'm going to make damn sure it's the most socially awkward moment of their adult lives.