Letters to a Marine - 3 /Do you know where your pants are? part two

While my twin brother is away at Marine boot camp, I'll be writing him weekly letters. Because I share everything with you, I'll also post them on my blog. Enjoy!


Dear Womb mate,

These past two weekends, have been New Mexico's Annual Balloon Fiesta. And last Friday, Nameless Dad offered to give me his free passes to go. It was pretty cool of him, he even offered to drop them off at my apartment, sliding them under the door so as not to disturb my evening. What he thought he would be disturbing, I'm not sure. The thought was nice, but my door has a rubber seal around it. The seal is suppose to prevent cold air blowing in, and incidentally also keeps people from sliding Balloon Fiesta passes underneath it. So when Nameless Dad told me of his plan to give me passes ninja-like, I had to burst his bubble and just ask him to knock. I asked him when he was going to drop them off, to make sure someone was home and awake. Plans were made. At 10:30pm, I would home and asleep but Mr. J would be home, and awake when Nameless Dad came by to drop off the passes.

I told Mr. J about the plans, he had no problems with it, but did have one question. Would he have to be wearing pants? It had been a long week, and wearing pants was not a part of his evening plans. (I don't know what his evening plans were, I've learned not to ask these kinds of questions.) I assured him that no, he did not have to be wearing pants, but that my father would appreciate it if the cats were wearing pants. Appreciated, but not necessary either.

10:00 pm, I was awoken, by Mr. J searching his dresser for clean pants. After all the joking, he didn't want to take it too far, and wasn't just going to wear pants, but was going to make sure they were clean pants.

10:35 pm, awoken again, Mr. J curled in the fetus position on the floor. For when he answered the door for my father, Nameless Dad stood all in black. Black shirt, black shoes, black socks, black boxers, no pants.

A tribute to you. 'Hope they let you have pants less time at boot camp, or is that a bad idea?

Love and miss you,
Suicidal Jane