July 11, 2002

Men are from Earth,


Men are from Earth, Dinner Guests are from Mars



Dear Lord preserve me. We are having folks to dinner tonight.

"BlahblahblahblahDUSTMOP BlahblahblahblahPLACEMATSblahblah..." shouts the General in charge of Counter-Invasion Forces; er, force...just me. An Army of One.

I honestly try to follow the endless list of orders and heed the warnings. I make sincere effort to feign interest by continuous affirmative head-bobbing...sort of a military wobble-head doll...eager to please but more eager just to get on with my day! Good Lord, it's two adults coming for a meal, not the approach of the DeathStar Battallion!

IF just once, the Dire Consequences anticipated by the General in her battle strategy would actually occur, I would become a believer, and would re-enlist:

The invaders refuse to eat from the plates because there are water spots on the underside.

The Landing Forces examine my sock drawer and the top shelf of my closet

Aliens demand to see our storage room AND cellar, particularly looking behind things in the corners with their X-ray vision.

The Exotic Ones become ill, dissolving into green goo before our eyes because the salad forks were INCORRECTLY PLACED on the left side! No, make that the right side! WhatEVER!

The Horde becomes enraged and violent (or lapses into a comatose state) because the Army of One made the incorrect choice in dinner music. Or it was too loud. Not loud enough

The General-in-Charge is the object of wrath and loathing for any infractions or shortcomings suffered because of the incompetence of the Troop, is condemned as a Really Bad Person, and is excommunicated from the Legion of Friends foreverSigh.


Ours is not to reason why. The General returns at OH-FourHundred Hours, Klingons at six. Remember, Troop: Pretend to be a good soldier, but don't dustmop until you see the whites of their eyes!

Posted by fred1st at July 11, 2002 06:38 AM
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