Read Online Confessions of a Military Wife by Mollie Gross - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mollie Gross
Tags: Bisac Code 1: BIO008000
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recalled the match in perfect detail.
He insisted on a rematch. He kept going on and on about losing to a “Grunt.” It was a “Grunt versus Pogues” issue. While I knew my husband was a Grunt (an infantryman or “ground pounder” Marine), I didn’t know about Pogues.
Evidently we were surrounded by Pogues that day because they all kept chiming in on the rivalry between Pogues and Grunts.
Jon later explained there is a long-standing rivalry in the Corps. Being a Pogue or a Grunt is based on your MOS (job).
According to Pogues, Grunts are stupid, barbaric ground-pounders who are too dumb to be Pogues.
According to Grunts, Pogues are intellectual, soft paper pushers and too weak to be Grunts.
The joke to me is all Marines have to be Grunts at one time, while nearly every Grunt becomes a Pogue at some point or other. Yet they have this need to tease each other constantly.
NEIGHBORS
Our first neighbors had finally moved out. They had been a nightmare. He was in the Navy, had cheated on his wife, and had given her every sexually transmitted disease known to man. And she had shared all of this with me on a daily basis, making us both miserable.
Each time I ran out the front door to jump on my husband and greet him with a kiss when he came home, she shot me an evil look. She constantly tried to scare me with on-base gossip about Jon's upcoming deployments and rumors about when or where he was going. She took every opportunity to frighten me.
Her husband deployed soon after that and she decided to move off base. I prayed to the Lord that He would bless our next neighbors. After all, we would be sharing a driveway and a bedroom wall.
By the time our new neighbors moved in, I had made friends and was no longer feeling depressed.
When a car pulled up, I peeked out the window and ran out the front door.
There stood Michelle—beautiful and blonde with her tiny tow-headed baby David on her hip, and four-year-old Jacob holding her hand.
She told me she and her husband Kevin were from Cherry Point, North Carolina. I was on Cloud Nine—another Southern girl!
Michelle looked like a combination of Dolly Parton and Anna Nicole Smith. She had the big blonde hair, wide smile, and large boobs. She also had a big Southern personality.
I can only imagine what the neighbors said about Michelle and me. The sight of two blonde-haired and big-boobed Southern girls chatting incessantly probably sent some people over the edge.
Michelle also had a funny way of talking—wide open about everything. She talked about all body functions and all things private. If she didn’t have anything nice to say, or if she wanted to say something mean, but couldn’t because the kids were within earshot, she would just say, in a high pitched voice, dragging the word out, “Weeeeeeeeelllll!”
This one word became our thing. We would use it when others were around and we wanted to talk smack about another neighbor.
“So and so stopped by. She is so lovely, but her husband, he sure is … different.”
She would reply, “Weeeeeeeeelllll!”
Or I’d say, “I saw Jacob playing with that brown-haired boy across the street. He certainly does have a rough way about him.”
To which Michelle would reply, “Weeeeeeelllll!”
We could say it all in just one word. In a truly Southern fashion we managed to be ugly without hurting anyone’s feelings.
I was elated to be sharing my driveway and bedroom wall with Michelle and her family. We became so tight that we were constantly in and out of each other’s houses. We were like peas and carrots.
MOLLY, YOU’RE SUCH A BITCH!
Ironically, our new neighbors had a dog named Molly.
Throughout my life, I had had to deal with dogs with the same name as mine. I have met people who pop right out with “I have a dog named Molly!” Like this is supposed to make me feel warm and fuzzy?
Depending on my mood I might retort with “What a coincidence! I’m a bitch, too!”
Or this: “Great to hear it. Do
He insisted on a rematch. He kept going on and on about losing to a “Grunt.” It was a “Grunt versus Pogues” issue. While I knew my husband was a Grunt (an infantryman or “ground pounder” Marine), I didn’t know about Pogues.
Evidently we were surrounded by Pogues that day because they all kept chiming in on the rivalry between Pogues and Grunts.
Jon later explained there is a long-standing rivalry in the Corps. Being a Pogue or a Grunt is based on your MOS (job).
According to Pogues, Grunts are stupid, barbaric ground-pounders who are too dumb to be Pogues.
According to Grunts, Pogues are intellectual, soft paper pushers and too weak to be Grunts.
The joke to me is all Marines have to be Grunts at one time, while nearly every Grunt becomes a Pogue at some point or other. Yet they have this need to tease each other constantly.
NEIGHBORS
Our first neighbors had finally moved out. They had been a nightmare. He was in the Navy, had cheated on his wife, and had given her every sexually transmitted disease known to man. And she had shared all of this with me on a daily basis, making us both miserable.
Each time I ran out the front door to jump on my husband and greet him with a kiss when he came home, she shot me an evil look. She constantly tried to scare me with on-base gossip about Jon's upcoming deployments and rumors about when or where he was going. She took every opportunity to frighten me.
Her husband deployed soon after that and she decided to move off base. I prayed to the Lord that He would bless our next neighbors. After all, we would be sharing a driveway and a bedroom wall.
By the time our new neighbors moved in, I had made friends and was no longer feeling depressed.
When a car pulled up, I peeked out the window and ran out the front door.
There stood Michelle—beautiful and blonde with her tiny tow-headed baby David on her hip, and four-year-old Jacob holding her hand.
She told me she and her husband Kevin were from Cherry Point, North Carolina. I was on Cloud Nine—another Southern girl!
Michelle looked like a combination of Dolly Parton and Anna Nicole Smith. She had the big blonde hair, wide smile, and large boobs. She also had a big Southern personality.
I can only imagine what the neighbors said about Michelle and me. The sight of two blonde-haired and big-boobed Southern girls chatting incessantly probably sent some people over the edge.
Michelle also had a funny way of talking—wide open about everything. She talked about all body functions and all things private. If she didn’t have anything nice to say, or if she wanted to say something mean, but couldn’t because the kids were within earshot, she would just say, in a high pitched voice, dragging the word out, “Weeeeeeeeelllll!”
This one word became our thing. We would use it when others were around and we wanted to talk smack about another neighbor.
“So and so stopped by. She is so lovely, but her husband, he sure is … different.”
She would reply, “Weeeeeeeeelllll!”
Or I’d say, “I saw Jacob playing with that brown-haired boy across the street. He certainly does have a rough way about him.”
To which Michelle would reply, “Weeeeeeelllll!”
We could say it all in just one word. In a truly Southern fashion we managed to be ugly without hurting anyone’s feelings.
I was elated to be sharing my driveway and bedroom wall with Michelle and her family. We became so tight that we were constantly in and out of each other’s houses. We were like peas and carrots.
MOLLY, YOU’RE SUCH A BITCH!
Ironically, our new neighbors had a dog named Molly.
Throughout my life, I had had to deal with dogs with the same name as mine. I have met people who pop right out with “I have a dog named Molly!” Like this is supposed to make me feel warm and fuzzy?
Depending on my mood I might retort with “What a coincidence! I’m a bitch, too!”
Or this: “Great to hear it. Do
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