Balls. The Army kind.

The Army has a thing with celebrating. It usually happens twice a year, unless the fellas are deployed. These "celebrations" are called balls. These balls are when us gals get to doll ourselves up (the works...dress, clutch, hair, make up, nails, etc etc etc), and stand next to our man at the single handedly most attractive point of his military wardrobe: the dress uniform.

Allow me to take you on a side trip as to the significance of this dress uniform. Truth be told, the soldiers are a bit confused about the female perspective on rank. We chicks? Don't care. Seriously. I promise you, that no girl out there has memorized rank structure or what it looks like (speaking non militarily of course). They see hot man + insanely hot uniform = they want a piece (even if that just means getting to say he chose you to come with). It doesn't really matter, to most, if you're a private or a general. That uniform has the ability to stop women in their tracks. It beholds an illusion of something that truthfully doesn't really exist amongst soldiers (chivalry), at least not the single ones.There is no such thing as a woman who doesn't want a man who makes her feel safe. That uniform, is a symbol of safety. Soldiers are trained in combat (even though us Army wives recognize the VAST array of what that means in the military), and there is nothing sexier than a man who can fend off the fears of the night.

Back to my point, the dress is deeply significant. At least to me. I don't really care how I look to any of the other people in that place. It doesn't matter if anyone else sees what I'm wearing and thinks it's unflattering, or too flashy, or not flashy enough. I do not dress for them. You know that guy who gave me a last name? You know that fella who tamed this wild beast and wrapped a symbol around her ring finger? That's who I dress for. I want him to drool. I want him to think Yeah...there's that chick I married! I want him to be proud. I want him to think and feel about me the exact same way that I think and feel about him in that uniform (this is not to imply that I think differently of him outside of the uniform. For those of you who have seen my husband, you know that drop. dead. gorgeous doesn't even begin to describe). 

So this up coming friday, the works will be done: hair, nails, make up, dress... Now if only the night didn't have to be spent listening to a bunch of boring speakers and watching a bunch of adult children getting drunk. I suppose we all need something to dream about, right? :)