GROUNDHOG NIGHT

From the annals of getting old and stupid.

So after enjoying a pizza with my wife - a pizza picked up on my way home from work Friday evening - I go upstairs to change out of my suit.  And maybe I had a glass or two of cabernet along with the extra sauce and cheese.  I get partially undressed, then feel the urge to lay down for a short while.   Under the sheets.  Very pleasant.  I fall in a deep sleep.  I awake refreshed.  Light streams in under the window shade.  I glance at the clock radio: 8:45...   8:45!  My heart catches in my throat.  It's eight forty 'effing five in the morning!  Work started fifteen minutes ago!  I run out of the room and down the stairs dressed in the  button down shirt and underwear I'd fallen asleep in.  The wife is sitting in her chair, laptop on her, well, lap, doing whatever one does on Facebook.  "What day is it?" I shout.
"Friday," she says, looking more than a bit confused.
Jesus H. Christ, it's Friday morning and I'm late for work.  I am in a complete panic.  I run back upstairs, throw off my clothes and start up the shower.  But something isn't quite right.  I've done this before.  Done it recently.  Damn...  I run back downstairs, totally confused and - worse - totally naked (not a pretty sight when you're in your early 60's).  I accost the wife again.  "Are you sure?  Sure it's Friday"  It isn't Saturday, is it?"
The woman is looking for something to protect herself with.  "No, dear.  It's Friday."  And then the magic word.  "Night."
"Night?"
"Yes.  Night.  What did you think?"
I glance out the window (at an oblique angle, so there's nobody can stare in and see the naked, raving lunatic).  Yup, it isn't morning light, it's twilight,  Dusk.  It is Friday evening, a quarter to nine.  An old Humphrey Bogart movie plays on TCM.  The pizza box is on the counter where I left it, along with the bottle of wine.  I don't normally drink wine first thing in the morning.  I do drink wine at night.  But not anymore tonight, I decide.  Not anymore.  I trudge back upstairs to find some clothes.  Humphrey Bogart growls something at his moll, but I can't make out the words over my wife's raucous laughter.  This will not be a good weekend..

CROTCHETY OLD RANT - PART I

Events have conspired to piss me off.  I've been thinking about Staff Sgt. Robert Bales, the man who apparently went berserk back in March and slaughtered those Afghan civilians.  It was an act that can't be forgiven, but I was struck by the fact that he, like so many others in our volunteer military, was on his fourth tour of duty in that god forsaken part of the world.  That's four, people.  And at the same time this was playing out on our TV screens, our bold Republican presidential candidates were salivating, absolutely salivating, at the idea of attacking Iran - I guess they're aiming for the big trifecta:  Iraq, Afghanistan and Iran all within ten years.  Apparently someone's offering a prize for the most wars fought in a single decade.
 
And yet, I couldn't help noting, none - NONE - of these gentlemen (Romney, Gingrich and Santorum) has ever worn the uniform.  EVER.  That makes 'em chickenhawks in my book - big mouths, but very little guts (except, of course, for The Newt).  And, as far as I can tell, none of them have children in the service.  I am getting sick of war-happy politicians with no military experience and no blood relatives in uniform.  And while I am not so naive as to think that a president can't be effective in handling a war unless he has served (I think Obama is doing just fine, thank you very much), it would sure be nice if the president and members of congress had a little skin in the game.  Therefore, I propose the Anti-Chickenhawk / Skin in the Game Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, as follows:

Part the First:  Unless one of the 50 states or territories are attacked, U.S. military forces cannot fight for more than 24 hours without a formal declaration of war. 
Part the Second: No congressperson is allowed to vote on such a declaration unless at least one of that congressperson's children are 'of age' and serving in the active military or reserves - preferably this will be the congressperson's firstborn. 
Part the Third:  Should war be declared, said child / children unless already serving in a combat unit will be transferred to same and remain there fighting alongside all the other poor sons of bitches until the end of hostilities.

Pass this amendment and then let's see just how serious our Republican brethren are about heading off to war.

Okay, I've said my piece.  Now I'm going back to cleaning the damn bathrooms.