Free Confessions of a Military Wife by Mollie Gross Page B

husbands had been gone for nearly a month, which gave us lots of time together.
    Now half of the neighborhood children would be jumping on my trampoline while eating ice cream. We would go to the beach, take walks together, or just hang out at Natalie’s or Autumn’s.
    At the first Bunco party, I had agreed to host the next one. Maggie had insisted that my house was the biggest, an ideal place for the next game.
    Since it was going to be on “butter bar” territory, we decided to call the shots.
    First of all, rather than serving Brie and the usual appetizers, desserts, and table snacks, we decided we would spice things up.
    I called my “Butter bar girls” and started making plans. The invitations went out with specific instructions: No kids or military talk allowed. Please bring your favorite dance music CD.
    We also had new food assignments: who would bring the beer, the margaritas, and the wine coolers. We decided who would bring the different flavors of cigarettes: lights, flavored, and ultra-lights.
    Table snacks changed from raisins, Goldfish, and carrots, to Combos, hot fries, and M&Ms.
    Finally, instead of having a purple dog bone for the winner of the most Buncos, Michelle provided a “Bunco boner.” It was a pink, sticky penis made of a material that could stick to the wall and crawl down it like a Slinky.
    Instead of being outnumbered by higher-ranking wives, I thought the evening should be full of enlisted and officer wives. We had a fun girl’s night planned!
    About an hour into the evening, we realized most of the Captains’ wives had not shown up. As more guests arrived, they brought regrets. So and so couldn’t make it because she couldn’t find a sitter. So and so couldn’t come because her child was sick.
    We began to realize we were in trouble. You need twelve people to play Bunco. And if you can’t attend a Bunco night, it’s your responsibility to notify the host or find someone to fill your spot.
    Christa looked at me between drags on her cigarette and said, “I know Maggie’s not coming. She told me last week.”
    The one wife who had insisted that I host a party because I had a large house was not even coming. Glad she told me to my face.
    Worse still, she was supposed to bring the Bunco kit. When I pointed out that Maggie was supposed to bring the kit, Christa stared blankly at me. Maggie had told her she did not have the kit.
    This is insane, I thought. I bet her perfectness couldn’t stand the thought of being in the home she thought she deserved.
    I figured the fact we had changed the rules of etiquette had also gotten under their skin. They wanted to let us know they were above our beer-drinking, cigarette-smoking, junk food-eating party.
    After my anger wore off, I became hurt and sad. I was obvious to me that she had called the handful of her cronies and told them to boycott my party.
    It was not enough that they ignored the invitation, but they also tried to ruin our fun.
    What was ironic is those wives had decided not to attend because they thought our behavior was inappropriate. And yet, they were the ones being rude. They were the ones acting like snobs.
    But without the game kit, how were we going to play Bunco? I couldn’t think of what to do.
    Christa saved the day. “Let’s play something else! This is really just supposed to be a time that we all get away and be girls. It’s not about the Bunco. It’s about hanging out, without kids or husbands!”
    The women looked up at me and smiled. My anxiety melted away.
    Another wife chimed in, “Let’s just stay out here on the patio and talk. Screw Bunco!”
    So we sat on the patio, laughed, drank, ate junk food, smoked, farted, teased, and bonded. A few wives who heard the commotion from down the street joined us.
    It was the best night of my life.
    Thereafter, my house became known as the party house for the new clique in town. Of course, none of the uptight wives were included.
    It became a mix of wives of Captains,