The one where I am not polite

I'm a fairly easy-going person and am always loathe to put forward the unpopular opinion, preferring to go with the flow. So I just nod my head and murmur, "Yes, you're right," when some well-meaning (I'm sure) person tells me that, "At least you know he's safe. There are so many military wives out there worse off than you." And their statements are, in fact, true: many military wives have husbands who are in harm's way every day of their 15 month deployments while mine is relatively safe (if he would just remember to duck before going through a door) and has only been away from me for six months.

But you know what? I'm tired of hearing people who would just about wither and die if they had to spend even a month out of contact with their husbands minimize how I'm feeling. My friends who are Marine wives or girlfriends - and I have more of them than any of these well-meaning people do, trust me! - don't treat me differently because TCB's not in a combat zone or hasn't been gone as long as their spouse has. They know that any time with the person you love 5,000 miles and several time zones away is tough. They have that same flutter of excitement in their tummies when they hear the phone ring at 10:15 p.m. and hope, hope, hope it's their fella. They would have understood how much it hurt to hear my Junior League friends complaining about their husbands' bad habits when I have only had my husband living with me for five weeks out of the 56 we've been married and long for the day I can scold him for not putting his socks in the hamper. Heck, I'll probably pick them up for him for a little while - no scolding.

Those Marine (or Army) wives and girlfriends have earned the right to tell me to "quit yer whining"...but they don't. Instead, I hear it from people who have no clue what I'm going through, and I'm tired of it. Don't dare to minimize my pain until you've walked a mile in my shoes. Don't you dare make me feel guilty because being separated from my husband might be first on my mind when you ask how I am. I'm sorry not to be a more interesting conversation for you, but at least I didn't bore/embarrass you by telling you the story of how I ended up in a heap on the floor, sobbing until I fell asleep, last week - horrors!

Perhaps this is an outcome of the thinking I've been doing re: expressing anger appropriately or perhaps I've just reached the outer limit of how far I can stuff things away...not sure. I do know that the next person who asks me how my husband is doing had better be prepared to hear the answer because I'm done being polite.